
PRESENTED BY 



i 



I 



I. 




MEMOIRS AND REMAINS 



JOHN pLIPHANT, 

OF 

AUBURN, NEW-YORK. 

TO WHICH IS ADDED 

HIS FUNERAL SERMON, 
RV REV. J. HOPKINS. 



The memory of the just is blessed. 

Solomon, 



AUBURN: 

PUBLISHED BY H. IVI sjTtf & « . 

Oliphant & Skinner, Prin^ 

3835. 



Entered according to at; of Congress, on the thirteenth day of February, is 
the year of out Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-five, by Henry 
Oliph ant, as proprietor, in the clerk's office of the DisUict Court of the North- 
ern District of New y«rk= 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The following publication originated in the desire, 
which many of the friends of Mr. Oliphant expressed 
to have him write an account of his Christian expe- 
rience ; and to add to it, his last counsel and advice. 
What he wrote agreeably to such solicitation, together 
with a few letters and reflections, is now printed, at 
the request of the Session of the First Presbj'terian 
Church of Auburn, of which he was a member. 



# 



I 



PREFACE. 



When Solomon says, " the memory of 
the just is blessed," he brings to view the 
principle which dictates, and justifies that 
species of publications, which preserves 
from oblivion, the virtues of those that are 
dead. Good men take delight in speak- 
ing, respectfully, of the righteous, who have 
departed this life ; and, especially, of those 
with whom they were, intimately, acquaint- 
ed, while living. In doing this, they pay 
due honour to the memory of those who de- 
serve it ; and the remembrance of their 
worth may, in various ways, prove a bless- 
ing to themselves. The meritorious dead, 
whose virtues may become, particularly, 
useful, by reviving the recollection of them, 
were not, always, found among those who 
held exalted places in church, or state ; 

nor among those who astonished the 
1* 



6 



world, by the splendor of iheir public acts* 
Many, in the retired walks of life, have 
exhibited noble examples, of genuine god- 
liness, that are, truly, worthy of imitation. 
By causing these to pass, in review, be- 
fore the pious mind, much good may bo 
effected, by way of instruction, of encour- 
agement, or of delight. 

The person, whose memory is wished 
to be preserved by this little volume, did 
not occupy any elevated station in so- 
ciety ; nor did he exercise himself in 
great matters, or in things too high for 
him. But while he did not hold, and did 
not aspire to, any civil or ecclesiastical em. 
inence, he so distinguished himself by his 
pious conversation, and amiable manners, 
as to obtain a high place in the affections 
of a large circle of religious acquaintance. 

During Mr. Oliphant's last affliction, 
his disease, as will be seen from his own 
narrative, was of such a nature as to lead 
him, and all around him, to expect that the 
next moment would summon him away. 



7 



His pious friends viewed his situation with 
deep and with much distress of 

mind, did they anticipate the time, when 
they should be deprived of his fellowship 
on earth. Having often been animated, 
and comforted, by his friendly, and edify- 
ing, conversation, they were led, fre- 
quently, to request him to write an account 
of his religious experience ; and also, to 
add to it, such counsel and advice, as he 
saw proper to give, in view of his enter- 
ing into his rest, and leaving them, in this 
world of trial. To those who made this 
request, he replied, that he had been an 
unprofitable servant — that his life would 
be a poor example — and that he could 
not write any thing, worthy of no- 
tice. But their importunity could take no 
denial. Feeling, very sensibly, that this 
request was dictated, and urged, by the 
partiality and affection, of real friendship, 
he, in a good-humoured way, agreed to 
do what he could ; and set about it, while 
much afflicted with bodily disease, 



s 



What Mr. Oliphant wrote, in compli- 
ance with the earnest, and repeated, soli- 
citations of his christian friends, will be 
found, on the following pages, in the same 
order, and in the same style, in which he 
left it. It has been suggested, that an al- 
teration, in the arrangement of the matter ; 
and in some sentences, words, and phrases, 
might be, profitably, made ; but as he 
wrote to gratify those who were familiar- 
ly acquainted with his mode of thinking, 
and of expressing himself ; and who desi- 
red to have a memorial of one, whom they 
highly esteemed, " taking him for all in 
all," it is concluded to do little more than 
to change a few words and expressions, 
to avoid repetition. 

There is no circumstance which seems, 
in any way, to intimate that Mr. Oliphant, 
ever, indulged the thought of appearing, 
before the world, as an author, except it 
should be in complying with the request, 
which has been stated above. But how 
far this manifested any idea of the kind, is 



9 

r@rj obvious. He wrote to gratify his 
friends ; and left what he had written, to be 
disposed of by them, as they should deem 
proper and useful. The responsibility of 
printing what he wrote, rests wholly upon 
bis friends ; and they assume it most cheer- 
fully, as they feel persuaded that this pub- 
lication will be productive of good. 

But, it may be asked, what are the par- 
ticular benefits which are expected to bs 
derived from the present volume, when Bi« 
©graphies of men, distinguished for publi c 
seal ; for acts of munificence ; for volun- 
tary privations of friends and country ; and 
for toils and hardships, in lands of stran* 
gers, and idolaters ; are constantly thrown 
before the religious community ? If any sa- 
tisfactory answer can be given to this ques- 
tion, it is thought that the language in which 
the question is dressed, obviously suggests 
it. The most of the Biographies, which 
are making their appearance, recite the 
actions of those who have moved in pecu- 
liar circles, or been employed in peculiar 



10 



works of benevolence. They do, indeed, 
exhibit many noble examples, which ar® 
calculated to arrest the attention of such 
persons, as find themselves in circumstan- 
ces, similar to those in which the individu- 
als were placed, whose deeds they record. 
But alas, too many, who are embarked in 
the ordinary business of life, do not consi* 
der the lives of these distinguished persons* 
as affording examples for them to imitate. 
With respect to what is contained in this 
volume, it exhibits religion as it has exist- 
ed, and as it may still exist, among persons 
in the common walks of life. In this re- 
spect, it is supposed, that it may conduce, 
in a peculiar manner, to the edification of 
many, who are engaged in the usual em- 
ployments of the world, and feel that they 
ihust remain in their present callings. 
But should there be a mistake, in suppo- 
sing that this publication will be of general 
use among that portion of society, to which 
allusion has been made ; there is a great 
number of Mr. Oliphant's particular ac- 



11 



quaintance, who consider this memorial, 
of the good man, as being valuable to 
them ; and believe that it will be of benefit 
to their families. 

It may not be improper, just to allude to 
the customs of some of the dissenters, in 
England, with respect to the manner in 
which persons were introduced into the 
gospel ministry ; that many, in this coun- 
try, who may read the following pages, 
may better understand what Mr. Oliphant 
says, concerning his supplying a congre- 
gation at Mill-Hill ; and afterwards, con- 
templating a course of study preparatory 
to the ministry. 

Previous to the time when Mr. Oliphant 
entered on his religious course, it was not 
uncommon for a young man, when he pro- 
fessed to have experienced a change of 
heart, to be urged, by some of his ac- 
quaintance, to " exercise his gifts," in 
praying, exhorting, and even preaching ; 
and "to go forward" — Many, of weak 
minds, and of little knowledge, complied 



13 



with these solicitations, and, without muck 
cultivation, continued in the ministry, to 
the disgrace of the sacred office, and re- 
proach of religion. To correct the evil 
of this practice, seminaries had been open- 
ed, in different places, for those who had 
strong desires to preach ; and such were 
urged, by the reflecting and judicious, to 
avail themselves of the advantages w T hich 
were thus afforded for obtaining useful 
knowledge. 

At the time of Mr. Oiiphant's conver* 
sion, there was a considerable improve- 
ment, in the public opinion ; and the great- 
er portion of the young men, who turned 
their attention towards the ministry, felt 
the importance, and necessity, of submit- 
ting to a course of academical instruction, 
before they became established as public, 
and stated, teachers. It remained, howe- 
ver, the practice, for the candidates, before 
they were introduced into one of these 
seminaries, to exhort and preach, for a 
season, in some society. At the time of 



IS 



the candidate's seeking admission into the 
seminary, it was required that he should 
produce testimonials of his religious cha- 
racter, and of his natural qualifications to 
teach, from respectable individuals, and 
the society with which he had been con- 
nected. This being done, he was exa- 
mined, by a committee of the Institution, 
composed of ministers and laymen, on his 
experimental acquaintance with religion : 
And frequently, did this committee make 
trial of the candidate's qualifications as a 
public speaker. This was particularly 
the case at the Institution at Cheshunt, in 
. Hertfordshire, near London. 

Mr. Oliphant being urged by persons* 
# whom he considered judicious, " to exer- 
cise his gifts, and to go forward" — he 
listened to their advice— supplied a con- 
gregation at Mill-Hill, for a season— of- 
fered himself as a candidate to be admit- 
ted into the seminary at Cheshunt — and 
received permission to enter. But he 

paused at the threshold — and after a se- 
2 



14 



rere struggle of mind, came to the conclu- 
sion that the Lord did not require his ser- 
vice, as his ministering servant. He does 
not state, in his narrative, the particular 
circumstance which led him to this con- 
clusion ; but it is well known, and no 
impropriety is felt, in stating it here^ * 
While at Mill-Hill , his services had been 
viewed by Christians, in a' very favourable 
light, and they had been, apparently, bless- 
ed to the conversion of several sinners. • 
This had encouraged him to hope that the 
Lord would make use of him, in building 
up his spiritual kingdom. But about the 
time,- when he was preparing to enter t*he» . 
Seminary, a person f of some note, who 
had been, hopefully, converted, under his ^ # 
preaching, gave evident signs of being a 
stranger to the power of godliness. * This 
had a depressing influence on the spirits 
of Mr. Oliphant, and led him, however 
erroneous it might have been, to conclude 
that the Lord did not approve of his ser- 
vice, as a preacher. At different times. 



15 



during his after life, he expressed an ap- 
prehension that this conclusion might have 
been rash. Many will pronounce it incor- 
rect — but as it respects him, the discussion 
of it, now, is of no use. It evinced the 
tenderness of his conscience, at the time, 
^Wnd^llit\it ii€e*be«aidv3aere^ is^tha^this . \ 
\ circumstance led him to^we, up a qourse 
o£j afcudy #Vhiciihs *d#em^o* .Jiegessa^r^to ^ \\ 
prepare him for usefulness in the ministry, 
# '.. ^ITliefvpiet^y of* Mr. 01iphanVwas f §f sfoik * 
a'xharacter, as that by a due improvement 
& t'c&the £$tuj*al poWveTfS wjiipkhe gpssassejcl* # 
he might have been a respectable and use- 
• jgl^ lm ^ er « #f ^ JFSf c^rt^iinly arl^ ex- 
emplary Christian, after his aMvairantfip . 

J% •5^ a Sf — a ^7°^ memDer of . society — and a ^ 
u serai olncer in *trft? First * Presbyterian f ^ 
Churoh at Auburn. 

* This** v^lurhe 1 * c^nsists^of toyo parts- : x g \ * 

I. A narrative of his *past life, written 
by himself ; together with a short account 
of the religious state of his mind, from the 
time in which he closed his narrative, to 



10 



the end of his life ; furnished from his own 
papers, and the memoranda of some of the 
members of his family, who constantly 
attended him. 

II. Addresses, Letters, and Reflections. 




MEMOIRS, (ke, 



PART I. 

Being desired by some of my friends, 
whom I love, and hoping it may be for the 
honour of the blessed God, I feel willing 
to state what the Lord has done for me, 
and the way in which he has led me 
through the wilderness of this world. 
The state of my health is such, that it is 
not probable I shall be able to finish what 
I now undertake. In my own eyes, it is 
of little consequence whether I do, or do 
not ; and it can only be of importance, if 
I shall, in any way, promote the glory of 
the most precious Redeemer. 

The incidents of my life have, in no 
respects, been very remarkable, and at no 
time have I aspired after great things. 
The best part of my life has been wasted ; 
and if no flesh can glory in His presence, 
2* 



18 



I feel that my place is in the dust, to b© 
abased, and to lie very low before the most 
Holy God for ever. 

I was born March 7th, 1771, in the city 
of Carlisle, county of Cumberland, in the 
north of England. My parents were re- 
spectable, and I think lived happily to- 
gether ; but neither of them knew any 
thing of vital religion, while I was with 
them ; but I have reason to believe they 
both submitted to the Saviour, in their ad- 
vanced years, and after I left them. I 
judge thus from report, and from letters 
received from them, in their declining 
years. I think as early as when I was in 
my tenth or eleventh year, I was much 
affected under the word, and frequently 
so mvich so as to weep ; but I now think it 
arose chiefly from the fear of death, or of 
hell. At times I made resolutions against 
some particular sins, but they had no 
abiding influence. 

About this time, Mr. John Wesley cam© 
to Carlisle, and my mind was much drawn 



19 

©ut towards him, and his doctrines ; but 
my heart was unaffected with the love of 
God. Under the entire control of the 
world, and self gratification, I arrived in 
London March 20th, 1789, aged eighteen 
years. Frequently, I had such convictions 
of my sins, as to render me unhappy. 
My two brothers, who resided in the city, 
were accustomed to attend the Presbyte- 
rian meeting house, near Covent Garden, 
where the doctrine of God's Sovereignty 
was ably sustained. I of course went 
with them to their place of worship — but 
endeavoured to reason with them, and to 
defend my previously received sentiments. 
But they reasoned with me from the scrip- 
tures, until my prejudice against the glori- 
ous doctrines of God appeared to subside. 
After this, I went to hear the Rev. Thomas 
Wills, at Silver-street Chapel, principally, 
as I now judge, because he was dignified 
in his manner, and very eloquent in the 
pulpit. I sat constantly under his minis- 
try — assenting to the high doctrines of the 



20 



Gospel, but felt that my heart was harden- 
ing, I could commit sin with ease ; and 
believed in a certain kind of fate. I con- 
sidered my case as hopeless, and felt that 
I was given over to a reprobate mind. I 
knew I grew harder and harder in sin, and 
could, and did, commit it with greediness. 
I held the truth in unrighteousness, and 
believed myself only preparing for hell. 
I blamed the Almighty for my existence, 
and wickedly laid the charge of my guilt 
and misery at his door. O, it was truly 
dark, before day. 

I have now come to the most important 
part of my life ; wherein I believe the 
Almighty was pleased, of his abounding 
mercy, to make himself known to my soul, 
as he does not to the world. It was on a 
Sabbath, on New-Year's day, in 1792. I 
awoke about four in the morning, and fell 
into a train of thought, on my miserable 
way of life, with its fearful consequences, 
that filled me with amazement. I wept 
exceedingly, and although in despair, I 



21 



cried " save, Lord, or I perish" — I felt I 
was without hope, and without God, in the 
world. I despised myself, and had some 
sense how contemptible I must appear in 
His eyes, with whom I had to do. After 
breakfast, I went to Silver-street Chapel : 
Mr. Charles Buck read the prayers, and 
I perfectly well remember, that while he 
was reading the general thanksgiving : 
" We bless thee for our creation, preserva- 
tion, and all the blessings of this life, but 
above all for thine inestimable love, in the 
redemption of the world by our Lord Je- 
sus Christ, for the means of grace, and for 
the hope of glory 1 '-— I was cursing the day 
that I was bom. I was convinced that 
God hated me, as I, certainly, hated him. 
I blasphemously insulted him for my " cre- 
ation, and preservation, 5 ' and as to " re- 
demption, means of grace," or " hope of 
glory," it looked, in my view as if he was 
mocking me, before I was shut up in outer 
darkness. These were my feelings, as 
near as I can recollect. Mr. Wills enter- 



22 



ed the pulpit, and took his text from Exo- 
dus,vxvi. chapter, 15th and 16th verses — 
" And when the children of Israel saw it, 
they said one to another, It is manna : for 
they wist not what it was. And Moses 
said unto them, This is the bread which 
the Lord hath given you to eat. This is the 
thing which the Lord hath commanded, 
gather of it every man according to his eat- 
ing ; an omer for every man, according to 
the number of your persons, take ye every 
man for them which are in his tents." At 
first the text, and subject, appeared some- 
what insipid ; but after he had made 
some progress in his discourse, it be- 
came surprisingly interesting to me. He 
began by stating, that the children of Is- 
rael were brought out of Egypt with a 
high hand ; a.nd proceeded to show how 
wonderfully they were brought through 
the Red Sea — how kindly they were sup- 
plied with water at Marah, and that now 
he was giving them bread from heaven. 
He spoke of the necessity for, and the 



2S 



nourishing nature of, this bread. I well 
remember when he had finished what he 
had to say on the history, or the facts in 
the ease, he said, " I dare say some of 
you, my dear brethren, are going before 
me, and are anticipating what I have yet 
to say, in this discourse." I mention this 
because it was remarkable, and new for 
me, to anticipate, as I did in this instance, 
what would follow. He spoke of the 
dealings of God with Israel, as typical of 
the experience of his children in every 
age, and of the manna as a type of the 
blessed Saviour. I began to feel, although 
very vile, as if I could cry, " Save, Lord, 
or I perish;" and prayed that he would 
pardon all my sins, and create a clean 
heart within me. As my minister went 
on exalting the Lamb of God, my feelings 
were much excited. I wept exceedingly ; 
and the tears flowed so profusely, that I 
could not look up at the preacher. How- 
ever, I thought I would try, and according, 
ly, after wiping my face as well as I could, 



24 



I did so ; and appearing to look right at 
me, he said, " O precious Christ, O none 
but this Christ for a poor sinner." I think 
the language of my heart was immediately, 
and from that time forward, " O precious 
Christ, O none but Christ for me." I was 
entirely overwhelmed with the love of Je- 
sus. I wondered at him. I forgot my- 
self, and forgot there was any hell. I be- 
lieve I said, in my heart, I will part with 
all, dear Lord, and follow thee. The 
world and its concerns were forgotten. 
My whole soul was absorbed with love to 
the most precious Redeemer. I felt as in 
a new world. Old things had passed 
away, and the very countenances of the 
children of God, in the Chapel, had a dif- 
ferent appearance. After the sermon, Mr. 
Wills gave out the 39th hymn in the Coun- 
less of Huntington's collection ; 

Guide me, O thou great Jehovah, 
Pilgrim through this barren land; 

I am weak — but thou art mighty, 
Hold me by thy powerful hand ; 

Bread of heaven ! bread of heaven ! 
Feed me now and ever more. 



25 



Open now the crystal fountain 

Whence the healing streams do flow ; 

Let the fiery cloudy pillar 

Lead me all my journey through; 

Strong Deliverer f Strong Deliverer I 
Be thou still my strength and shield. 

When I tread the verge of Jordan, 

Bid my anxious fears subside: 
Death of deaths and hell's destruction, 

Land me safe on Canaan's side, 
Songs of praises, songs of praises, 

I will ever give to Thee. 

Musing on my habitation, 

Musing on my heav'nly home, 
Fills my soul with holy longing, 

Come my Jesus, quickly coma 
Here vanity is all I see, 

Lord, I long to be with Thee ! 

Never before had I experienced such 
feelings as pervaded my mind, during the 
singing of this hymn. Such were my 
emotions, that I was unable to join in sing- 
ing the first part of the hymn ; but I felt 
a thrill of pleasure in uniting with the 
congregation in the last verse ; 

Fills my soul with holy longing,. 

Come my Jesus, quickly come. 
Here vanity is all I see, 

Lord, I long to be with The© ( 

3 



26 



To this hour, I know of no hymn that 
has afforded me so much pleasure in all my 
travels through the wilderness. After 
worship I immediately went home, much 
in prayer ; and when I was going through 
Smithfield, near the top of Hosier Lane, 
and where the Martyrs were burnt, in the 
reign of Mary, I had such a view of my- 
self, of my pride and lust, as I never had 
before. My heart was such a sink of 
corruption, in my own eyes, that it made 
me stand still in the street ; but the Sa- 
viour appeared so precious to me, that I 
was supported under it. Indeed, the first 
words I ever heard to effect, were an an- 
swer to every thing : " O precious Christ, 

none but Christ for me." I conferred 
not with flesh and blood — and think I felt 
no hesitation in saying, " the Lord he is 
God." I w r as not conscious of indulging 
any hope. Indeed, I thought it impossible 
that the Lord could pardon or love me ; yet 

1 felt fixed in my heart, to love and honour 
Him, whatever he pleased to do with me, 



On Monday evening, January 2d, 1792, 
I kneeled down, for the first time, to pray 
in secret, but did not use my voice. I 
could do/ nothing but weep, praying for 
mercy, and that the most precious Saviour 
would keep me from going back, and dis- 
honouring him as I had done. I believe I 
prayed in this manner for more than a 
month ; I mean without using my voice. 
About this time, all the discourses I heard, 
seemed directed to me. I heard nine 
sermons on Regeneration, by which my 
views on this subject were very much en- 
lightened. I left my old companions en- 
tirely, and found myself in company more 
agreeable to my taste. The children of 
God began to talk to me as if I were a 
Christian. I could not look upon mvseif 
as such, and would say — how can the 
Lord put me among his children ? It ap- 
peared to me impossible. I well remem- 
ber, that about this time, on waking one 
morning, my soul thirsted for God, and I 
felt a tender freedom, a sweet confidence, 



28 



and a peculiar pleasure in looking to the 
Saviour. The chains that bound me to 
my sins seemed broken ; the word of God 
appeared to me an entirely new book — I 
esteemed the words of his mouth more 
than my necessary food — the promises, 
and doctrines of the Bible sparkled with 
glory — but after all, I thought it incredi- 
ble that the Lord should put me among 
his children. 

At this time I was strongly inclined, and 
was urged by the children of God, to go 
and see Mr. Wills. I went several times 
into the street, but had not courage to 
knock at his door. At length, however, 
I believe on the 16th of February, I went 
to s^ee him, was introduced, and told him I 
had come on purpose to speak to him 
about my soul. He desired me to sit down 
and tell my story. I gave him a sketch 
of my whole life, but dwelt more particu- 
larly on what had occurred since New. 
Year's day. He let me go on without 
interruption until I had closed my narra- 



29 



tive, and I thought he was much in prayer 
for me. When I had finished what I had 
intended to say, I asked him this question : 
Do you believe the Lord has ha,d any hand 
in all this ? He replied, " It is the Lord's 
doing, and marvellous in our eyes ; bless 
the Lord for what he has done, and trust 
hirn for what he will yet do." I returned 
home and tried to do as desired, but found I 
could not ; for I could not believe that the 
most holy God had begun a work of grace 
on my heart, or that he could, in any way, 
put me among his children. 

The same evening, I went to Black 
Horse Alley, in Fleet-street, and heard a 
discourse from John, vii. chapter, 46th 
verse — " Never man spake like this man," 
and I think I had some rising hope, that 
evening, in my heart, that the Lord would 
have mercy on me. From the first, my 
mind was intent on reading the Scriptures, 
especially, the prophecies of Isaiah, and 
the life and death of our Saviour. Often 
have I read, and wept, and prayed, and 
3* 



30 



irept again, while musing on the love of 
Christ, The preciousness and glory of his 
promises have overwhelmed me. When 
I did read any thing besides the Bible, I 
was greatly favored in being directed to 
such books as proved a blessing to me. 
Luther "on the Galatians," Gammon's 
"Christ the Christian's life," "Polhill'a 
Christos in Corde," &c, were among the 
number. 

Soon after this, I became much impress- 
ed with the importance of attending the 
Lord's Supper. I mentioned it to Mr. 
Wills and some of the children of God, 
and they appeared to think it my duty. I 
accordingly did so, for the first time, May 
6th, 1792, and united myself with the 
children of God, worshipping in Silver- 
street Chapel. Surely the Lord smiled on 
me, and I felt encouraged to dedicate my- 
self to the most holy Lamb of God. His 
very name was "as ointment poured forth," 
that cast a richness, and sweetness, and 
fragrance., into every ordinance, public and 



31 



private. " The testimony of Jesus is the 
spirit of prophecy, to him gave all the 
prophets witness and hence the old and 
new Testaments are full of Christ, and 
become so nourishing to the children of 
God. From this time? I was enabled to go 
forward, and sometimes to speak good of 
his name. For the first year, I went near- 
ly every day or evening, to some place of 
worship — On the Sabbath, to Silver-street ; 
Monday, to a prayer meeting in Monmouth 
Court ; Tuesday, to Mr. William Romain's, 
at St. Ann's Church, Blackfriars ; Wednes- 
day, to a Society meeting at Silver-street ; 
Thursday, to hear preaching at the same 
place ; Friday, to hear Mr. Cecil or Foster, 
at St. Antholin's ; Saturday, to the Taber- 
nacle, Moorfields ; and I think if ever any 
of the sons of men knew any thing of true 
happiness, I did during this season. 

After I -began to use my voice in prayer, 
I was often urged to visit the sick, and pray 
with them ; and I found it both pleasant 
and profitable. When I had been one 



year engaged in this way, I was chosen a 
visiter of the sick, at their own habitations ; 
and from this time, I could not go to hear 
so much, as my time was much occupied 
in visiting, and relieving, the sick, and 
poor, at their own houses. I continued 
employed in this good work for some time, 
I think profitably, until some of the people 
of God began to press me to exhort and go 
forward, with a view to the ministry. I 
Was much encouraged by some friends 
who, I thought, were truly pious, and who 
had a good share of wisdom. I yielded 
to their solicitations ; found my mind much 
enlarged in the Scriptures ; felt much 
freedom in speaking, whenever opportuni- 
ties presented ; and waited to know the 
will of the Lord concerning thi3 business. 
The Missionary Society was formed soon 
after this — the feelings of the children of 
God were much drawn out towards the 
heathen — I became acquainted with seve* 
ral who offered themselves as missionaries 
to go in the Duff to Otaheite- — my soul wa« 



33 



knit to them, and I felt as if I could go 
any where, or do any thing, for the honour 
of the most precious Redeemer. The 
Duff, however, sailed while I was supply- 
ing a congregation at Mill-Hill, a small 
village about ten miles north of London. 

It was my full intention, if I went into 
the ministry, to have a collegiate educa- 
tion ; and after I had spoken at Spafields 
Chapel, in the presence of the trustees of 
Cheshunt College, and in the hearing of 
Lady Ann Erskine, who politely sent for 
me to her house, I was informed that the 
College was open for me, free of expense. 
Thus the way was opened for my obtain- 
ing an education. While this seemed to 
favour my wishes, some peculiar cir- 
cumstances soon transpired, which con- 
vinced me, that it was not my duty to pre- 
pare for the ministry. 

Having come to this conclusion, I 
thought it best to marry ; and having been 
long acquainted with Miss Ruth Thomp- 
son, I was married to her on the 6th of 



54 



April, 1795, at St. Martin's Church, under 
the most auspicious circumstances, and 
with the full consent and approbation of 
our parents on both sides. After this hap- 
py connection, I soon found that I was in- 
experienced, and unstable as water, though 
I think I enjoyed religion for two years, or 
two and a half years, after my marriage. 
It then became evident, that I had lost 
nearly all sweet enjoyment of God. I 
had greatly relaxed in secret prayer — was 
off my guard, and began to fail an easy 
prey to sin. I began to associate with 
vain companions, and, of course, did not 
reverence the Sabbath, as 1 nad formerly 
done. The cares of the world loaded me 
down, and I sought comfort in that which 
I knew was offensive to God. My con- 
science often smote me ; but I still retain- 
ed the form of prayer, with my wife and 
children. My spiritual father, Mr. Tho- 
mas Wills, died — I did not love his succes- 
sor, at Silver-street — I became a rambler, 
on the Sabbath — and having " itching 



35 



ears," I became fond of variety in preach- 
ing ; and sought it to my hurt. I injured 
my wife and children, by my example ; and 
became involved in the fashions, and piea* 
sures of the world. I could distinctly 
perceive, how greatly I had forsaken my 
own mercy ; but was so entangled, that I 
had no heart to return. 

About this time, I became a violent re- 
publican, and joined the London corres- 
ponding society. I became alarmed for 
the country, and was not without fear for 
my own safety, which, together with other 
circumstances, induced me to turn my at- 
tention to America. I accordingly left 
London, July 23d, and arrived at New- 
York, September - 10th, and in Auburn Oc- 
tober 11th, 1811. While on the voyage, 
these words were somewhat sweet to me : 
" Thou shalt sing again as in the days of 
thy youth." After I arrived at Auburn, 
and became somewhat settled, I began to 
look at my ways, and to see from whence 
I had fallen ; but how to return, or how to 



36 



iook up, I knew not. My case appeared 
gloomy, and almost hopeless. I attended 
the ministry of the Rev. David Higgins, 
and think it was profitable to my soul. I 
began sincerely to repent before the Lord, 
and to hate myself, for my wasted life. I 
truly felt it to be an evil, and a bitter, thing 
to sin against the Lord. The sin 1 com- 
mitted in early life, that is, before 1792, 
appeared to be nothing when compared to 
that which I had committed since. After 
the great Redeemer had shewn me so 
much love, and had been so precious to 
me, to have spent my time in the service 
of sin and Satan, and not to have improved 
the opportunity which I enjoyed, of doing 
good, appeared to me unpardonable. My 
spot did not appear like the " spot of God's 
children." Sometimes, when under a deep 
sense of my ingratitude, and defilement, 
a thought would possess my heart, that he 
can-not put me among his children. The 
iniquity of Peter, or David, looked small in 
my eyes, when compared to my own, and 



I longed, and endeavoured, to attain their 
repentance. I felt that my business was, 
alone, with God ; and went to Him with 
weeping and supplication, and I hope, and * 
believe, relying on the One that is mighty 
to save. He gave me, at length, some ac- 
cess to his presence, through the sprink- 
ling of the most precious blood of Jesus. 
From this time, I began to associate with 
the few people of God living in Auburn, and 
to pray with them ; and became a kind of 
yoke-fellow with Deacon Silas Hawley, in 
public, and private? prayer meetings. I 
did not, however join the Church, until 
the Rev. Mr. Woodruff was settled over 
us ; I think, in 1813 — and was chosen a 
Ruling Eider, in the Church, in 1814. I 
sometimes enjoyed sweet nearness to God, 
but could never forgive myself, for my 
former indifference to His cause. 

In 1816, a difficulty arose in the Church, 
with respect to our minister, Mr. Wood- 
ruff; and although, I acted according to the 
best of my judgment, I have since thought 



36 



that I was influenced by an unbecoming 
spirit. Mr. Woodruff was dismissed, and 
the Society gave a unanimous call to the 
Rev. D. C. Lansing, who arrived among 
us, March, 1817. We had just finished a 
very convenient Church, and it was dedi- 
cated by Mr. Lansing, to the service of 
God, on the sixth day, of the same month. 
I soon began to feel a very remarkable 
M oneness of spirit," and a union with him 
in prayer, that I had never known before. 
Our souls appeared knit together, present, 
or absent. His deep humility was greatly 
blessed to me. I felt, anew, to repent be- 
fore the Lord, over my useless, and wast- 
ed, life. In the mean time, the most glo- 
rious God was coming nigh to us, as a 
Church, and, at our communion, in May. 
1817, the Lord was evidently present. 
The children of God appeared very hum- 
ble — there was much prayer, and on the 
following Sabbath, May 11, when the 
communicants rose up, before the whole 
congregation, confessing our sins, and re- 



S9 



newing our covenant, that we, as a Church, 
would serve the Lord in newness of life, 
the presence of the glorious Redeemer, 
was manifested — the Church were in 
tears — the world were amazed— and I be- 
lieve, eternity will unfold glorious things, 
that were done on that day. The breth- 
ren, and sisters, began to visit from house 
to house ; and the Lord was with us, 
wherever we went. In less than a fort- 
night, there were more than twenty of our 
neighbours, triumphing in a most precious 
Redeemer. 

I had never seen, or felt, any thing like 
this, never having been in a revival of re- 
ligion ; and the effect, produced on my 
own mind, was very salutary. I was so 
fully employed, either in visiting sinners 
under conviction, or in praying with those 
in distress, that I almost forgot myself 
The Saviour appeared precious — his work 
sweet — eternity every thing, and time no- 
thing. The reality, and substantiality, of 
unseen things were more clear, than they 



40 



ever had appeared before ; and while my 
views of myself were more abasing, I 
think, I had more distinct, and soul satis- 
fying, conceptions of the holy way of sal- 
ration, through the atoning blood of a cnu 
cified Redeemer. Never have I, wholly, 
lost the relish, or the savor, that through 
grace, I obtained, at that time. I believe 
that there were more than two hundred 
souls added to the Church, as fruits of that 
revival. 

I have had a good deal of affliction, in 
my family, but I never had any peculiar 
illness myself, till 1819, when I was laid 
aside by a bilious fever, and brought very 
low. Then, for the first time, I was led to 
take a near view of death. At first. I 
acknowledge, I was greatly staggered. 1 
could not reconcile my wasted life, with 
the reality of my conversion, in 1792 — 
but after a few days, I felt the most pre- 
cious Redeemer, to be my refuge, and 
the home of my heart. The Lord was 
graciously pleased to restore me to health. 



41 



Since that time, the infirmities of age have 
been creeping upon me ; but blessed be 
the name of the Lord, I am a witness, that 
he is good, and a strong-hold in trouble— 
" Blessed are all they, that put their trust 
in Him. 51 

For some years, after 1819, great eeri* 
ousness continued to prevail, and the spirit 
of the Lord was evidently working among 
us. In the following respect I was great- 
ly to blame— I did not lay out myself, for 
God, as, I now feel, it was my duty to have 
done. Many of my neighbours, that are 
now gone to eternity, and to whom I had 
easy access while living, I might have 
warned of their danger ; and might have 
pointed them, to a crucified Saviour, had 
I not been wanting in energy, or in love 
to the Lamb of God, or to the souls of men. 
I feel that I utterly failed in my duty, in 
not urging sinners to repentance ; and in 
not visiting and comforting the Lord's 
children. For all my sins, of omission, 

as well as commission, I now have to flv, 
4* 



42 



afresh, to the fountain opened for all sin 
and uncleanness. 

In 1826, we had again a very precious 
revival, and the Lord wrought wonders 
among us ; but during this season of re- 
freshing, He was pleased to lay on me, 
his afflicting hand. In my right leg I 
suffered much pain ; but felt sweet peace 
in my soul. I rejoiced, to be in my Sove- 
reign's hand ; and felt willing to live or 
die. When my affliction became so ex- 
treme, that I could not get out of bed, or 
attend to family worship, my eldest daugh- 
ter came daily into my room, and prayed 
with me. I observed, for a time, that in 
her addresses to our Father, her mind 
seemed fixed on Psalm xxxvii. 4 : " De- 
light thyself in the Lord, and he shall give 
thee the desire of thine heart." At first. 
I wondered, at her, that, while appealing 
to Him, for the truth of his being the de* 
light of her soul ; and, while pleading the 
faithfulness of his promise, she would 
simply express a desire that I might re- 



43 



cover, and be a blessing to my family, the 
Church, and the world. But I soon dis- 
covered, that when the danger appeared 
more imminent, as my leg did actually be- 
gin to mortify, her importunity for my 
recovery became greater, About this 
time, the Rev. Mr. Lansing came in, and 
prayed with me. He entreated the Lord, 
that I might live, and stand upon my feet, 
in the house of God ; and that he might 
hear my voice, in prayer. When he clo- 
sed his prayer, I reproved him for what he 
had done ; as the will of the Lord appear- 
ed to be clearly expressed, that I should, 
immediately, pass over to eternity. He 
replied, " father Oliphant, I have not given 
you up- — the Lord can do every thing — 
and I shall, yet, hear you sing, and pray." 
On the following morning, when the phy- 
sicians called to examine my leg, they re- 
moved a part of the mortification, and said 
that the flesh below was sound ; and, in 
about a week, I was pronounced out of 
danger. I am satisfied, that these were 



44 



instances of the prayer of faith — and, 1 
am also satisfied, that it was neither my 
faith, nor my prayer ; for, with regard to 
myself, I was in a straight betwixt two — 
having a desire to depart, and be with 
Christ, which was far better than to re- 
main here. I can recollect, I felt perfect- 
ly pleased, with the will of the Lord, let 
him do as he would with me. I gradually 
recovered my health. What eternity will 
unfold, on the subject of my being useful 
to the Church, or the world, since 1S26, I 
cannot say ; but this much I know, that 
the Redeemer is most precious, and his 
ways are ways of pleasantness, and all his 
paths are peace. 

In the fall of 1830, I had a severe cold, 
and was afflicted with violent fits of cough- 
ing. In one of these, I felt some injury, 
or rent in my breast, and soon discovered 
a small swelling, or lump, a little to the 
right of the middle of my breast bone. 

In December, I began to feel a strong 
pulsation in this lump, and, the week before 



45 



Christmas, I showed it to my physicians? 
who told me it was an aneurism, or rup- 
ture of the blood vessel, near the heart — 
that the affliction would prove fatal — that 
physicians could render me no important 
service ; and that my business, hencefor- 
ward, w r as to close my concerns for this 
world ; and to be in readiness to pass over 
to eternity. The impression I got, was 
that, in all probability, my stay in this 
world, would not be more than two, or 
three, wrecks ; and, perhaps, not so long a 
period. When I first received this infor- 
mation, and began to believe it, I felt a 
strange chill go through my whole frame ; 
and when I went to pray, about it, I was* 
indeed, greatly cast dow*n. I could not 
get near to God---had no sweet access to 
his throne — and became alarmed, lest the 
Lord was going to deal with me according 
to my deserts ; and to put me into the grave, 
in the dark. The thoughts of my wasted 
life, and of being treated, as I deserved, 
in my dying hours, appeared dreadful, be- 



46 



yond description. But, blessed, forever, 
be his glorious name. He was not far 
from me— He was only waiting to be gra- 
cious—he was, indeed, ready to hear my 
prayer— for in about twenty-four hours, 
and while I was urging my supplication 
before his throne, I became overwhelmed 
with a sense of the compassion of my dear- 
est Lord. The mountain became a plain 
— the obstacles, that prevented my access, 
were removed — He did, indeed, appear to 
be a gracious Father, through the Son of 
his love. I felt confidence in him, and 
rolled myself upon him. I blessed him, 
and loved him, for giving me such a kind 
intimation of his will, in the prospect of 
his taking me so speedily, and sweetly, 
over to eternity. The fear of death was, 
in a great measure, taken away — the Re- 
deemer appeared, afresh, precious, and I 
could, and did, say, whom have I in heaven 
but Thee. The world began to wither, 
more than ever, in my view ; and looking 
at my affectionate wife and children, I 



47 



could say, I can part with all, dear Lord, 
and follow Thee. 

Immediately after this, I obtained sweet 
peace in believing, and found, as I hope, 
things pretty well arranged for eternity, 
through the blood of the Lamb. I set 
about settling my worldly affairs ; and 
visiting some of my friends, desiring to 
tell them, what the Lord had done for me ; 
and what pleasant intimation I had, that I 
should shortly see his face ; and bow 
among the blessed, before his glorious 
throne. 

I think, that if I ever was of any use, it 
has been since my last affliction, and the 
discoveries which the blessed God, has 
made of himself to my soul. The joy of 
the Lord has been my strength : And, now, 
language fails me, while I bow, and bless 
a, most gracious and sovereign God, who 
has been carrying on a most blessed revi- 
val, ever since he has laid me aside ; and 
at this time, while I am waiting my depar- 
ture, one hundred and fifty of my fellow 



48 



beings, including two of my sons, and two 
of my dcLU ghters, are dedicating them- 
selves to the service of God, and entering 
into covenant with his children, to be the 
Lord's forever. O, my soul is tow r ards 
them, that ofFer themselves, willingly ; 
and although I cannot commune with 
them here,' it looks to me, but a few min- 
utes, before we shall bow together before 
the Lamb, in the midst of the throne ; and 
sup together, in our Father's kingdom. 
Auburn, May 1, 1831. 



From the date of the foregoing narra- 
tive, it appears that Mr. Oliphant finished 
it May 1, 1831. He lived to December 
8, of the same year. During this period, 
he enjoyed, for the most part, a sweet 
composure of mind, and an unshaken con- 
fidence in God, as his portion. A circum- 
stance occurred about the last of May, 
which he notices, as will be seen in his 
Reflection on the near View of Eternity, 



49 



that seemed for a moment to disturb his 
mind, and to interrupt his intimate com- 
munion with God. He had given up his 
family, and all his worldly interests, and 
was, constantly, waiting the coming of his 
Lord, when a female acquaintance hap- 
pened to remark to him, that she knew a 
man afflicted with an aneurism upwards of 
twenty years, and gave it as her opinion 
that, with proper care, he might live a long 
time. This, says Mr. Oliphant, " had such 
an effect on my mind that, in three days, 
when attempting to pray, I felt as if the 
whole world had come in between the 
Lord, and my soul ; and I could not find 
access to his throne." But on June 5, 
he uses this triumphant language : " I feel 
that the Lord restoreth my soul, and giv- 
eth me the pleasure of lying at his feet- 
willing to wait, or willing to go — having 
no anxiety as to the time, or mode of my 
death." 

On June 25, he thus writes, as will be 
seen in his Reflection on Death : " I take 



50 



pleasure in anticipating my entering the 
valley of the shadow of death ; I calmly 
watch, and keep waiting for the light of 
that morning, when I shall see him whom 
my soul loveth." And again : " Expect- 
ing the signal every moment, I sometimes, 
look at the clock, and wonder if my Lord 
will come by such an hour. Sometimes, 
I think I should be pleased to go over on 
the Sabbath — but would not, on any con- 
sideration, desire to go sooner, nor other- 
wise, than as my Father pleaseth." 

The state of his mind, at the beginning 
of July, may be seen in the following re- 
lation, which he gives of his religious feel- 
ings :— 

Sabbath, July 3d, 1831. My health, 
for some time, has been such, that I have 
not been able to attend to the services of 
the Sanctuary ; but feeling better, for two 
or three days past, and the weather being 
very pleasant this morning, I felt a strong 
desire to go to the house of God, and mix, 
once more, with his children on this side 



51 



of eternity. I took every precaution to 
preserve my health, and made it a subject 
of prayer, that my heavenly Father, would 
comfort, edify, and bless my soul. The 
house was very full, and the congregation 
appeared more solemn than usual. The 
first thing that struck my mind, with pe- 
culiar force, was the hymn, commencing — 

O for a closer walk with God, 
A calm and heavenly frame. 

I had, frequently, heard this hymn before ; 
but never with such feelings, as I had at 
this time. I do not know what could have 
brought to my view, so distinctly, my vain, 
and wasted life. My perfect folly, in for- 
saking the living fountains of water, and 
in labouring to hew out to myself broken 
cisterns, stared me in the face. O how 
this looks, in the near prospect of eterni- 
ty ! But blessed be God, even now, on the 
very brink of the river of death, I can, and 
will sing — 

11 The dearest idol I have known, 
Whate'er that idol be ; 



52 



O Jesus, tear it from thy throne, 
I'll worship only Thee. 

So shall my walk be close with God, 

Calm and serene my frame ; 
A pure sweet light now marks the road, 

That leads me to the Lamb. 

Since I have felt myself so near the end 
of my race, every thing appears to have 
assumed a new aspect. I am expecting, 
every hour, to go the way of all the earth ; 
and stand amazed, at the compassion of 
the God I serve. I wonder, at the per- 
fection of the atonement made, by a most 
precious Redeemer ; and am filled with 
astonishment, at the condescension of the 
Holy Spirit ; that, in view of the valley of 
the shadow of death, and even in full view 
of my miserably wasted life, I can feel 
calm and serene. O it is a 6i pure sweet 
light that now marks the way, that leads 
me to the Lamb." 

The Rev. Josiah Hopkins preached 
from Luke xiv. 33 : " So likewise, who- 
soever he be of you that forsaketh not all 
that he hath, he cannot be my disciple." 



53 



Now, I think, in the light of eternity, I can, 
and will, appeal to my holy Lord, and say 
"Whom 'have I in heaven, but Thee." 
Well do I remember my feelings, nearly 
forty years ago, while singing the follow- 
ing stanzas : 

" The God of Abr'ham praise, 

At whose supreme command 
From earth I rise — and seek the joys 
At his right hand. 

I all on earth forsake, 

I'.s wisdom, fame, and power ; 
And him my only portion make, 
My shield and tower. 

I thought then, and I think now, that I 
gave up the world, with its blandishments ; 
and, understandingly, chose the Lord as 
my portion, with submission to all his will, 
for time, and eternity. Mr. Hopkins gave 
a very lucid explanation of what it was to 
forsake all for Christ ; and that I have 
done it, I think, I cannot be mistaken. I 
have, most assuredly, left all my doings, 
as the foundation of my hope of accept- 
ance with God. The most precious Sav- 
iour has been, and now is, dear to my 
5* 



54 



heart ; in him is my only hope. I have 
prayed, and laboured, for honesty of soul ; 
and believe that the Lord, my Redeemer, 
is the home of my affections, and my con- 
fidence. I have, surely, forsaken my own 
wisdom, and desire to take my direction 
from the Bible ; to lie low, before God ; 
and to receive the whole of my duty, solely, 
from his mouth. The only difficulty, in the 
case, appears to be this — Have I ever for- 
saken all my sins, and sought my pleasure, 
solely, in doing the will of God ? Now, I 
know, that in many instances, and in dif- 
ferent periods of my life, my conduct has 
been sinful, and highly offensive — Yet, I 
think, in the near prospect of the wonders 
of eternity, that I cannot dispute, but that, 
in many exercises of my mind, I have 
been honest ; and have, sincerely, forsa- 
ken all, for the love which I have felt for 
my precious Redeemer ; and, now, this 
day, expecting, every hour, my summons 
from on high, to go into the presence of 
the King in his beauty, I can sing, 



55 



Whom have I on earth below ? 
Only Thee I'd wish to know; 
Whom have I, in heaven, but Thee? 
Thou art all in all to me. 

And now, O my Jesus, my Sovereign, my 

all and in ail, I am thy disciple, base as I 

have been, and am still, I am thine ; and 

I cannot but hope, that when the world 

shall be on fire, and these elements shall 

melt with fervent heat, and thine enemies 

shall be filled with dismay, that 

"Then thou wilt own my worthless name, 

Before thy father's face; 
And in the new Jerusalem 

Appoint my soul a place." 

Sept. 4, 1831. In a letter of this date, 
to Mr. Marshall of Oswego, as will be 
seen in the following pages, Mr. Oliphant 
mentioned, that he was then anxiously 
waiting the appearance of his Lord- --that 
he felt ready and willing to part with all 
earthly things—and that he was anticipa- 
ting the joy of beginning the eternal song 
of praise to the Lamb that was slain. 

Mr. Oliphant has not left any memoran- 
da, which express the feelings of his mind, 



56 



at any particular time, after September 4. 
But avc have the fullest assurance, from 
those who constantly attended him, that 
lie continued to enjoy peace of mind, and 
a precious hope of soon resting in the bo- 
som of infinite, and eternal love. During 
the month of September, his health de- 
clined more rapidly, and his sufferings be- 
came more intense. Under all his trials 
he was patient, and manifested the sweet- 
est submission to the divine will. Trust- 
ing in the mediation of his blessed Lord, 
he knew that he should, in a little while, 
be freed from sin and pain, and made holy 
and happy in the heavenly world. Daily, 
in his prayers, and in his conversation 
with friends, he expressed the cheering 
prospect which he had, of soon " passing 
over Jordan," to take possession of his 
promised inheritance. 

Nov. 19. He took a fresh cold, which 
very soon occasioned his death. On the 
20th, he was confined to his room, but was 
1 enabled, on the evening of the 21st, to 



57 



worship with the family. At this season 
of devotion, he united in singing his fa- 
vourite hymn : " Guide me O thou great 
Jehovah," &c. Often had he said, allu- 
ding to the peculiar sweetness of this 
hymn, at his conversion, that it was the 
first, which he had ever sung ; and that he 
desired it should be the last. After this 
season of family worship, Mr. Oliphant 
sung no more, until he joined the choir 
above. The following evening he was 
enabled to lead in family prayer, but it was 
with difficulty. This was the last time 
that he was permitted to take any part in 
the worship of the family. At the close 
of his prayer, he seemed sensible that 
he could enjoy the privilege, but a little 
longer, of leading his household in their 
devotions, and the thought was affect- 
ing. With peculiar solemnity, he re- 
marked : " I don't know — but it appears 
to me, that it will be a great breach in the 
family, to take the father away." 



58 



Mr. Oliphant was extremely fond of 
music, and when he became very feeble, 
he desired to go into the room, in which 
his daughter played on the piano. — 
This was thought to be unsafe, and to di- 
vert his mind, some of the family spoke of 
the hymns and lyres above. To this he 
replied : u I doubt not but I shall soon 
have a golden harp." And, frequently, 
speaking of the imperfection of our worship 
here, he would exclaim — " G for a well 
tuned harp !" 

For several days before his death, he 
spoke with confidence of his being soon 
in a purer and better world — conversed 
freely, and calmly, concerning his depar- 
ture — and, with the utmost composure, 
gave directions, and advice, respecting the 
management of the family, after he should 
be taken away. During this period, his 
sufferings were at times, severe. To 
mitigate his distress, opium was fre- 
quently administered. To this he ob- 



59 



jected, observing, that he would rather 
suffer than to have his mind confused ; 
that it appeared shocking to him to stupi- 
fy the sick, on the verge of eternity ; and 
that, should his life be spared a fortnight, 
the world should know his opinion con- 
cerning opium. On the day of his death, 
in the midst of extreme suffering, some 
was offered to him ; but he, absolutely, 
refused to take it, saying : " It will do me 
no good — I desire to go into a sweet eter- 
nity, with a clear mind." 

Dec. 8, 1831. was the day on which he 
ended his earthly course. In the morn- 
ing, he was more comfortable than he had 
been for several days ; but, during the day, 
he so failed, as that it became manifest to 
him, and his friends, in the evening, that 
the time of his departure drew near. Per- 
ceiving the anxiety of the family, he ob- 
served to one of the members of it, who 
was near him, " I see you are clinging to 
me, but you must give me up." A little 
after this, one offered him some nourish- 



60 



ment : he just tasted of it, and said : " I 
want no more ; this is the last I shall take, 
in this world." During the day, he, re- 
peatedly, spoke of his own vileness, but 
expressed, at the same time, his confidence 
in the compassion of the Lord Jesus 
Christ, and in the efficacy of his atoning 
blood. One of the family observing that 
it was a surprising thing, that such poor 
feeble creatures, as we are, should be more 
than conquerors, at last, he very pleasant- 
ly added : " Through Him that loved us— 
It is all through him that loved us." And 
being reminded, by one who stood by him, 
of the love, and of the faithfulness of the 
Lord, he replied : " I know his heart is 
full of compassion ; I feel that I am not 
forgotten of him" — And to another he ob- 
served : " The Lord will take me over 
Jordan to-night" — and added, " Live for 
God, and do not waste your life, as I have 
done." 

About 8 o'clock, being seated in an easy 
chair, he said to those who were attend- 



lug him : i4 Now I wish you to help me 
to bed." He assisted in taking off his 
stockings, and loose gown, and remarked : 
u I shall never want them any more.' 7 
When he laid down, his kind and affec- 
tionate wife, whose attentions had been 
unremitted, having arranged his pillows, 
and covered him with the utmost care ; 
wished him to compose himself to rest. 
He intimated that he would make an effort 
to do so— and immediately, added, in a low 
voice — " O, " — the aneurism burst — he 
slept in Jesus. Such was the end of this 
righteous man. 

PUNE2AL. 

'The following account of Mr. Oliphant, 
and of his death and burial, is taken, prin- 
cipally, from an obituary notice given of 
him, the week following his death, in the 
Free Press, a weekly paper, published in 
Auburn. 

Died, on the 8th inst., at his residence, 
in this village, Mr. John Oliphant, in the 
6 



62 



61st year of his age. * * * * He 
emigrated to this country in 1811 — in the 
year 1814, he was chosen a ruling elder, 
in the First Presbyterian Church, in Au- 
burn ; and however humble, may have 
been the views which he entertained of 
his own efficiency, or usefulness, the 
Church will long remember him, as one of 
its most faithful officers — and the " sick 
and poor of the Lord's people,'' will re- 
collect him, with gratitude, as one of their 
kindest friends. 

The standard by which he measured him- 
self, reached to the heavens ; and his pie- 
ty partook more of that character which, 
we are apt to think, will be, alone, devel- 
oped, in the mansions of the blessed ; than 
of that of ordinary Christians, in this world 
of temptation, and of sin. The writer of 
this notice, who esteemed it one of the 
greatest honours, to be called the friend 
of such a man, will not hazard a descrip- 
tion of that character, lest he should fail 
in reaching the point of estimation, in 



63 



which the deceased was held, by his Chris- 
tian friends. 

While lingering on the verge of life, 
and in, hourly, expectation of a sudden en- 
trance into eternity, he wrote, at the re- 
quest of friends, a short statement of the 
events of his life, connected, principally, 
with his Christian experience — noted some 
of his views, while waiting the certain 
call — and penned addresses, to his breth- 
ren of the Session, and of the Church ; 
and to his impenitent neighbours. These, 
he wished might be read over his coffin ; 
and selected a member of the Session, to 
do it ; that the last service performed, 
with respect to his body on earth, might be 
used to glorify God, in evidencing the sure 
triumphs of faith ; and in giving his final 
warning to the impenitent. 

Agreeably to his request, at the close of 
the exercises of the last Sabbath after- 
noon, which, out of respect to the memo- 
ry of the deceased were attended by the 
congregations of both of the Presbyterian 



64 



Churches, in this village ; the individual 
whom he had selected, read, over his life- 
less corpse, to an immense concourse of 
citizens, a part of what he had written — 
And, although, an hour was thus occupied, 
the close attention of the audience showed, 
that their time flew unconsciously by. His 
words, and thoughts, and imagery, appear- 
ed borrowed from the converse of the 
" holy hill of Zion" — A holy awe, and re- 
verence of God, and a sweet anticipation 
of the future rested on the hearts of God's 
children ; while a conviction of the uner- 
ring truth of revelation, and a conscious- 
ness of the necessity of the sure triumphs 
of faith, rested upon all the hearers. 

It was the opinion of Mr. Oliphant, that 
the custom of wearing mourning apparel, 
ought to go into disuse — He considered it, 
as leading many, to incur an expense, 
which they could not well afford ; and 
to spend that time, in preparing dresses, 
which ought to be, particularly, employed 
in reflecting on death, and on what is ne- 



65 



cessary to appear, with acceptance before 
the holy God. He looked upon black 
clothing, rather, as an emblem of sorrow, 
than of affectionate remembrance ; and 
supposed, that we ought not to manifest 
any sorrow, for what the Lord does, in 
wisdom, and in righteousness — And he 
viewed the person, clad in mourning, as 
virtually saying, I cannot forget, nor for- 
give, my Maker for what he has, in his 
providence, done to me. From feelings 
like these, he, repeatedly, requested his 
family, while living, and, particularly, on 
the last day of his life, not to mourn his 
death ; and not to wear any badges of 
mourning, for him. With sentiments, like 
these, he, evidently, closed hi& address 
to his brethren, of the Session, as will be 
seen in the following pages. With his re* 
quest, his family, so far complied, as that 
they attended his funeral, in such clothing, 
as they were accustomed to wear, on or" 
dinary occasions of public worship. 
6* 



66 



The depositing of the dead body, of this 
good man, in the grave, was a season of 
deep interest ; the great number of persons 
who attended, evinced the estimation in 
which he was held by his fellow citizens. 
The sermon delivered on the occasion, and 
which is published in this volume, was ap- 
propriate, and impressive ; the words, 
read from the manuscript of the deceased, 
were as goads, and as nails fastened by 
the masters of assemblies — and the anxious 
countenances of the whole assembly, man- 
ifested, that the language, of every heart, 
was, " Let me die the death of the right- 
eous, and let my last end be like his !" 



MEMOIRS, & c. 



PART II. 

ADDRESSES. 

The following pious, and affectionate 
addresses, were added to the narrative, 
which Mr. Oliphant left of his past life ; 
and were, no doubt, written, in compliance 
with the request which had been made by 
his friends, to leave with them, his last 
counsel, and advice. No one can read 
them, without perceiving the deep interest 
which he took in the spiritual, and eter- 
nal, welfare, of all, who belonged to the 
Church, and society, with which he stood 
connected : And every Christian must be 
delighted with the vein of piety, and good 
sense, which runs through them. 



68 



L To the Session, 
My Dear Brethren — Lord Nelson's sig- 
nal, before his last engagement, was — 
44 England expects every man to do his du- 
ty." My brethren, of this Session, the 
King of Kings expects every one of, you 
will do your duty — will stand in your lot — 
and will be, actively, employed, until he 
comes again. O how shall I address 
you ! My soul has been knit unto you — 
We, surely, have united in prayer, and 
our dear Father, hath approved of our 
union. The Church, and the world, have 
been witnesses of the harmony, which has 
prevailed among us, and of the blessed 
revivals, with which the Lord has favour- 
ed us. Work, while it is day, for you 
will soon be called from your labour. 
May you, like Aaron and Hur, uphold 
your dear Minister ; and Amalek will, 
surely, fall before you. O with what 
pleasure shall brother Conrad Ten Eyck,* 



*See Appendix, A. 



80 



and myself, meet you, on the heights of 
Zion, as you shall be, one by one, gather- 
ed into the garner ; and with what ador- 
ing wonder and delight shall we bow, be- 
fore the throne, having our robes washed 
white, in the blood of the Lamb. Till 
then, be faithful, visit from house to house, 
and especially, be kind to the sick and 
poor of the Lord's people. 

My spirit to glory convey'd, 

My body laid low in the ground ; 

I wish not a tear at my grave to be shed ? 
Let all join in praising around. 

No sorrow be vented that day, 

When Jesus hath called me home ; 

With singing and shouting let brethren say, 
He's gone from the evil to come. 

II. To the Members of the Church. 

My dear Brethren and Sisters — I bless 
the Lord, a thousand times, for all the 
goodness, he has caused to pass before us, 
since he brought us into a Church con- 
nection. I think that there were not more 
than twenty members, when I joined you. 
The principal part of these have got, safe- 



70 



ly, home ; and those of you, that are left, 
are drawing near to the swellings of Jor- 
dan. O keep your eye, steadily, on the 
blessed Lamb of God, until you get over ; 
ihen you will need no more exhortation 
through eternity. Being made meet to 
be partakers of the inheritance of the 
Saints in light, you shall be confirmed in 
holiness, and in bliss. 

Before the Saviour's face, 

The ransora'd nations bow ; 
O'erwhelm'd at his almighty grace, 

For ever new : 
He shews his prints oflove, 

They kindle to a flame 1 
And sound through all the worlds above, 
The slaughter' d Lamb. 

Many of you are young in life, and in 
the ways of God ; O may you be simple, 
and upright in heart ; pray for a singleness 
of eye ; an honesty of soul ; and see, that 
your words of affection, and of confidence 
in God, be not stronger than your feelings. 
O it is an evil, and a bitter thing, to sin 
against the Lord. Be honest in secret, 
and I do not fear but you will be upright in 



71 



public deportment. Examine yourselves', 
frequently, as in the presence of God, and 
often renew your covenant engagements, 
that you will serve Him, only, and hon- 
estly, and forever. 

For some years, whenever the covenant 
has been read, I have generally, felt, as 
entering, afresh, into it. Study to walk 
uprightly, towards those who are with- 
out. Unless you, habitually, live near to 
God, and enjoy communion with him, you 
can be of little, or no use to your friends, 
or acquaintances. Do not, my brethren, 
and sisters, expect to do your neighbours 
any good, in speaking to them, unless you 
feel a disposition to pray, that the Lord 
will bless your efforts. O, that you may 
constantly feel your dependence, on the 
grace of God, and be influenced by the 
spirit of your dear Saviour — Then, if you 
tell the ungodly, even weeping, that they are 
the enemies of the cross of Christ, they will 
know, in their hearts, that you are sincere, 
and you may expect to do them good. 



72 



III. To Back3LIdehs. 

My dear Brethren and Sisters — For 
such I must still call you — suffer a word 
of exhortation, and do not imagine that it 
does not belong to you. I have been over 
the whole ground, and do know that it is 
an evil, and a bitter thing, to sin against 
the Lord. It is said that the golden calf 
was a source of sorrow to Israel, until that 
whole generation passed away — and I 
acknowledge, that my conduct, from the 
thirtieth, to the fortieth year of my life, has 
given me more pain, than all the sins 
which I committed during the whole of 
my previous existence in the world. 

Are any of my dear brethren, or sisters, 
anxious to know what characters I would 
rank among backsliders ? I would answer 
— all those, who do not keep near to God 
in secret prayer — all those, who think it of 
little consequence, occasionally, to omit 
secret prayer — all those, who, when in se- 
cret prayer, use words without feeling ; or 
who use a form of prayer, merely, to quiet 



73 



conscience — and all those who do not be- 
lieve that God is alive, or near, or able, or 
willing, to answer their prayers — all those 
of you, my dear brethren and sisters, who 
parley with temptation, and begin, by little 
and little, to omit known duties, and, of 
course, to commit known sins — all of you ? 
who are persuading yourselves that 
some sins are very small — all of you who 
think lightly of the blessed Sabbath, and 
do not give up the whole of it to the 
Lord, as he hath bidden you. I am very 
fearful for those who cannot be seen, ex- 
cept on the Sabbath, in any place of public 
wosship. In our church there may be 
upwards of four hundred members, and if 
there be worship on a week-day, perhaps, 
there will not be more than one hundred 
present ! I ask, where are the three hun- 
dred and upwards ; and what are they 
doing ? Surely, there is great reason to 
fear that they are backsliders ; and that 
they are preparing for themselves . sad 
work for repentance ; or misery for a 



74 



dying hour, and a ceaseless eternity. O, 
a backslider in heart, shall be filled with 
his own way. In a word, I rank among 
backsliders all those, who are grasping 
after the world, from a principle of selfish- 
ness, and not from a desire to do good, in 
their generation. I beseech you, breth- 
ren, and sisters, suffer this word of ex- 
hortation, and carry it to a throne of 
grace. May you, indeed, repent, and do 
your first works. I know that our Lord 
w r ill bless you, if you will return to him, 
confessing, and forsaking your sins. O, 
take with you words, and return to him — 
say to your dear Father, "take away all 
our iniquity," and you shall have meat to 
cat, that the world knows nothing of. 

IV. To the Impenitent. 

IVIy Impenitent Neighbours — The situa- 
tion of many of you, I consider peculiarly 
alarming. You have lived, through seve- 
ral very precious revivals. You have 
seen the wonders of God's mercy, all 



75 



around you. You have seen your acquaint* 
ances, submitting themselves to a sove- 
reign God, and finding peace to their 
souls ; and yet, you have resisted the evi- 
dence before your eyes, and the conviction 
of your own hearts, that " now, is the ac- 
cepted time, and now, is the day of salva- 
tion." O what will you do, when I shall 
see you again — O, how will you ■ feel, 
when you shall stand before the bar of 
God and answer, each one for himself? 
How will your past, and present, conduct, 
look in your own eyes, when the judg- 
ment shall sit, and the books shall be 
opened ; and when you shall see the an- 
gels of God, dividing an assembled world, 
and gathering, out of his kingdom, all 
things that offend? The names of my 
dear neighbours, and impenitent friends 
in the village of Auburn, are, while I am 
writing, passing in review before my eyes. 
O shall one, in ten, of you escape the 
damnation of Hell ? — O " why will you 
die !" I know that the Lord has called 



76 



you — I know, and you know, that you 
have refused. I know that, very shortly, 
you will be in earnest in calling upon the 
Lord — O why not seek him to-day, with 
your whole hearts ! You know, that God 
is right in his demands. You know that 
you are wrong to refuse, for one moment, 
to submit, and give up your hearts to God, 
repenting of all your sins. O flee ! flee to 
the Redeemer, now. By so doing you 
will increase my joy in the world of won- 
ders ; and will secure your own eternal 
happiness. 

I well remember the second of January 
1792. In the evening of that day, I was 
sitting in my room, alone — I had never 
bowed in secret, to ask forgiveness of God, 
in all my lift?. — I continued to sit on the 
chair, some time— the pride of my heart 
would not let me kneel — and yet, I felt 
that I was undone, without his mercy. O 
wonder of mercy, that he did not send me 
right to hell ! — I have blessed, and adored, 
his matchless grace, a thousand times, that 



on that very evening, he brought me, with 
weeping, and supplication, to kneel before 
him. how many of my impenitent 
neighbours will, immediately, go, and do 
likewise, and try, and see, for themselves, 
whether, now, is not " the accepted time," 
the very " day of salvation.'^ 

LETTERS. 

The disease of Mr. Oliphant being as- 
certained to be of such a nature, as that 
there was no hope of his recovery, and 
but little of his continuing many days in 
this world, he wrote a number of letters to 
his friends, in relation to his situation, and 
the feelings of his mind, on the great sub- 
ject of his soul's everlasting welfare. 
Copies of some of these have been pro* 
r,ured. A few of them, in whole, or in 
part, are here published. Expecting 
every day, and every hour, that his mal- 
ady would prove fatal, the writer seems 
to have had his eve, conatant.lv, fixed bi| 

- V 



73 



the coming of his Lord ; and his soui 
wholly taken up with the great concern of 
being prepared to meet him. This occa- 
sioned something of a sameness, as to the 
train of thought contained in these letters. 
But while this will be perceived, by every 
reader, they will not, on this account, be 
less interesting, or instructive, to the de- 
vout christian, who wishes to become fa- 
miliar with death, and with its attendant 
events. 

LETTER h 
To Rev. D. C. Lansing, D. D.* 

Auburn, January 17, 1831. 
My dear Brother — Understanding that 
the Lord is working wonders at Utica, I 
feel to rejoice with you ; and when, I hear 
of some of your children bowing, in secret, 
before our most precious Redeemer, I 
cannot do otherwise than weep for joy ; 
and exult in the unbounded mercy of our 

* Doctor Lansing was at this time pastor of the 
Second Presbyterian church of Utica, 



79 



heavenly Father, who has inspired, and 
answered your prayers. I once heard 
you say, in addressing your Father, in 
heaven, "I know that thou canst do all 
things"— O remember this, when you are 
praying for the rest of your dear children. 

Dear brother, I have sometimes heard; 
you say — " to whom shall we go, but to 
one who loves us V 9 . Now I am satisfied 
of your love, and I wish this letter to as- 
sure you of my warmest affectiom 

It is only three weeks ago, that I was 
apprised of my situation, as being afflicted 
with an aneurism near the heart. Twelve 
physicians who have seen it, pronounce it 
certain death — the time unknown — but 
most probably soon. 

My dear brother, I rejoice that my times 
are in the hands of God ; and while I am 
waiting, at the river side, watching the 
signal to advance, I keep pleading his 
word that the waters may not overflow 
me. I am indeed a wonder to myself; 
for I think I have had more joy, in his 



so 



presence, during the last three weeks than 
I have had during all the years since 1817, 
when he showed his compassion to me, in 
that amazing revival. For his goodness 
then, I feel to praise his name afresh. 
My blessed brethren, and sisters, come 
every day to see me. I know I have 
their love, and their prayers. What is 
very wonderful, in my situation, I am in 
good health — I have no pain — any mental 
powers are more vigorous than formerly 
— my complaint is entirely local — " the 
pitcher is broken at the fountain" — blessed 
be the name of the Lord, forever. 

You may be acquainted with the fact, 
that I have been, ail my life time subject 
to bondage, through fear of death ; but, of 
late, death, and eternity, appears in a new 
light. A Father's hand, and a Father's 
heart, appear in every thing; and I do 
hope, that as I am passing through the 
valley of the shadow of death, he will be 
with me ; and his rod, and his staff, they 
shall comfort me. 



81 



When I first obtained, that sweet peace, 
in my soul, which I have enjoyed, for the 
last three weeks, I became very deeply 
impressed with a sense of my own vile- 
ness, with respect to my frequent back- 
slidings, and my wasted life. It appeared 
to me, that should the blessed Redeemer 
show me his side, and should tell me, that 
it was pierced for my salvation, and that 
I might enjoy heaven ; yet I should be 
ashamed, before him ; and should be 
ashamed, in taking any seat assigned me, 
among his pure, and upright, children. 
Not that I should be ashamed of Jesus ? 
and of his infinite condescension and love : 
but the freeness, and riches of his giace, 
would enhance my guilt, and make me 
more ashamed of myself, in his presence. 
It appeared to me, that under a full view 
of pardon, I must feel abashed, when I 
shall enter the palace of the Most Holy 
One. One morning, about this time, I 
awoke very early, and these words, occu- 
pied my mind — " therefore are they before 



82 



the throne" — I lay musing on them, for a 
time, when I concluded to get up, and ex- 
amine them in their connection. I did so 
— and blessing, and glory, be unto his 
name, forever — I found that they, who 
were worshipping before the throne, had 
washed their robes, and made them white, 
through the blood of the Lamb ! The 
clean white robes is the righteousness of 
the saints in heaven — precious thought ! 
The heavenly worshippers have washed 
their consciences, and hearts — their tears, 
and repentance — their walk, and conver- 
sation — their virtues, and their w r orks — in 
the blood of the Lamb. " Therefore, are 
they before the throne of God." — O won- 
der of wonders ! — O who shall touch so 
high a note of praise to Him, as I, when 
he shall make me white through his blood, 
which cleanseth from all sin ? 

Allow me, my dear brother, before I 
close this letter, to express my gratitude 
to you, for your labor of love, while you 
were my pastor — for your faithful reproof, 



83 



public and private — And, now, I sincerely 
ask your forgiveness, for every thing that 
I have done amiss to you. I have been 
favored with the highly esteemed privi- 
lege, of walking the streets of Auburn, 
with you, arm in arm — O my precious 
brother, when our robes shall be washed 
white, in the blood of the Lamb, may I 
walk with you, through the streets of the 
New Jerusalem ; and may we bow to- 
gether, before him that sitteth in the midst 
of the throne. 

As my death will be instantaneous, it is 
not probable that you will be with me, in 
that hour. I leave it to your own discre- 
tion, whenever you shall visit my family, 
to say what you shall think, w r ill put ho- 
nour on the Lamb of God, or do good to 
the living — And I can rest quietly, in the 
assurance, that you will see, and be ten- 
der, and faithful, to my dear widow r , and 
my fatherless children. 

Wishing, dear brother, that you may 
work while it is day, I and my beloved 



84 



wife, subscribe ourselves your affectionate 
friends, John & Ruth Olipiiant. 

P. S. Believe me when I say, I shall 
be glad to receive a letter from you — In 
the mean time I will sing — 

Guide ine, O thou great Jehovah — 

LETTER II. 

To Palmer Holley. 

Auburn, Feb. 6, 1831. 
My Dear Brother — The following pas- 
sage of scripture, "Say unto the children 
of Israel, that they go forward," has been 
of very important service to me, in my 
pilgrimage ; and now, that it is drawing 
to a close, and I am expecting, every 
hour, the signal from on high, to " go for- 
ward," to see the king in his beauty, I 
would leave this passage, with my dear 
brother, Palmer Holley, as a memorial of 
my love to him ; and that it may be pro- 
fitable to him, when I shall have passed 
over, into eternity, 



S5 



My dear brother, urge your way, what- 
ever may oppose. In the strength of the 
Lord God, go forward. Get nearer to 
him — make advances in holiness — then 
you will be able to speak, to greater ef- 
fect, to others; that they "go forward." 
I expect to see you, shortly, where the 
wicked cease from troubling, and where 
the weary are at rest. 

John Oliphant. 

LETTER III. 

To Deacon Bostwick Brown. 

Auburn, , 1831. 

My Dear Brother — Waiting, for the 
signal from our Lord, to depart from this 
world ; and to pass over into eternity, I 
write to my brother, to be ready to meet 
me, when I shall have obeyed the com- 
mand. In the prospect of appearing in 
the world of wonders, and of eternal re- 
tribution, what can give me joy, but the 
•"righteousness of him who shed his blood 
without the gates of Jerusalem J Pie- 



86 



cious hope, in him, supports the soul — O 
my brother, from this situation, let me 
urge you to diligence in the heavenly way 
— Let nothing, which you would wish to 
do, be deferred until you come to stand, 
where I now do — " wherefore gird up 
the loins of your mind, be sober, and hope 
to the end, for the grace that is to be 
brought unto you, at the revelation of 
Jesus Christ." Yours sincerely, 

John Oliphant. 

LETTER IV. 

. To Rev. D. C. Lansing, D. D.* 

Auburn, March 20, IS3J. 
My dear Brother — When I last wrote 
you, I believe I dated my letter, from the 
banks of Jordan. Through the kindness 
of my heavenly Father, I have been linger- 
ing here, for some time. You will natur- 

* This letter was written in am .er to one 
which Mr. Oliphant received from the Doctor, 
in which he gave an account of the peaceful and 
triumphant death of his wife. 



87 



ally inquire 'what I have seen, and how I 
have felt, during the last two months ; and 
as I, formerly, had the pleasure of stating 
to you my religious feelings, and views ; 
so I now, with a great deal of pleasure, 
commence saying, that the river varies in 
clearness, width, and depth, according as 
the eye is kept fixed upon the man, whose 
visage was more marred than the sons of 
men. Several times, the whole river has 
appeared little more than a moderate step ; 
and the foundation, for the feet to rest 
upon, look? as firm, and as good, on the 
other side, as it does upon this. Several 
tin. s, there has been a thick mist extend- 
ing all the way across — then again, when 
the sun has risen, I have seen a morning 
almost without clouds. One thing is very 
remarkable. When lying near the brink, 
and having some near view of the promis- 
ed land, the Bible seemed like a new book, 
some v> x„ m it did about forty years ago. 
Sometimes, since I have been waiting here, 
the Most High, in some of his attributes, 



88 



looks so amiable, so boundless — surely. 
Abraham, or Moses, is, only, now, begin- 
ning to behold the outer rays of infinite 
perfection. Oh, I do not wonder, they 
love, and adore — O, to join, with them — 
Sometimes, when they have a moment's 
leisure, they must, sing, a hymn, begin- 
ning with such words as these, rt Great, and 
marvellous, are thy works, Lord God Al- 
mighty, who would not fear thee, and glo- 
rify thy name, for thou only art holy." 

Now, my dear brother, since I have come 
to this spot, I frequently look up, and give 
thanks at the remembrance of his holiness 
— of the wonders of the counsel of peace 
— of the fixedness of the plan of salva- 
tion — of the merit of a Saviour's blood — of 
the agonies of his death — and of the rea- 
son why he endured them. Mrs. Gra- 
ham was anxious, to lay up provisions, for 
passing over this Jordan ; and you see, that 
I have been collecting a store, while I have 
been here : but I sometimes say, after all 
my care, and exertions, precious Redeemer 



89 



give me thy hand, as I go over, or I am un- 
done. There is something peculiarly glo- 
rious in having our dwelling place in sight 
of the promised land. Oh it is sweet to 
live as seeing him that is invisible — -not 
looking at the things that are seen and 
temporal, but at the things that are unseen 
and eternal : — And it is, only, in this light 
that we can put any true valuation, upon 
this world, or the next. From the banks 
of this river, especially, in a clear day, 
this world does not seem to be of any val- 
ine ; but a cordial approbation of the Most 
High, and a well founded hope of seeing 
the King in his beauty, appear, truly, worth 
possessing. 

My sin, my ingratitude, my wasted, life, 
I assure you, appear very different, since 
I came here. Indeed, 1 should be over- 
whelmed, but for the most precious one, 
that has prints in his hands. There is a 
spot, not far distant from the water side 
towards which I love to look : Jesus, the 

blessed Saviour, oft times used to walk 

8* 



90 



there, with his Disciples. This side of 
Jerusalem, the city of endless peace, there 
is a garden, called Gethsemane. Oh 
what wonders are to be seen all about it — 
and not far from this royal city, there is a 
place called Calvary still more wonderful : 
there Jesus died — Oh it is good to con- 
template these. I am not astonished at 
the two Marys sitting down right over 
against the sepulchre. They waited and 
waited to see the end of the wonders. It 
is only while lying on the brink of the ri- 
ver of death, that we can discover the 
need, the value, or the benefit of affliction 
— and here I would testify, that it is the 
sweetest spot in which I ever lived — I am 
perfectly satisfied to be in the hands of my 
Lord — and wholly at his disposal. Often, 
while in prayer in the evening, it appears 
agreeable to me, to leave it with Him, 
in what world I shall awake. I, daily, 
feel to bless him, for bringing me here, 
and for the sweets of those precious truths, 
you so faithfully delivered in my hearing. 



91 



You will perceive, my dear brother, that 
I feel myself, wholly, incompetent to write 
you a letter of condolence, on the loss of 
your dear wife. I feel deeply for you, 
and your children ; and as you were, be- 
fore this loss, so you have been, more es- 
pecially, since, remembered in my prayers. 
Standing near the eternal world, as I do, I 
think there is great reason for you to lie 
very quiet at the feet of your sovereign 
God ; and to praise him for the abundant 
entrance granted to your beloved wife, in- 
to the eternal world. It appears, that be- 
fore she entered the river, she could tri- 
umph in her Lord. Oh, it is a source of 
joy to me, to see my friends going over so 
pleasantly. I feel assured that Mrs. Lan- 
sing is perfectly satisfied, and that our Lord 
has clearly shewn his mind, respecting 
this matter. I think, if you can lie very 
low, and then look up, that you will see a 
very kind hand managing the whole of the 
business. I often think, I see her stepping 
over so sprightly ; and no wonder ; Jesus 



92 



had said to her, " fear not, I am with thee, 

be not dismayed, for I am thy God." It 

was natural that she should sing, as you 

observe in your last letter, 

41 Jesus, lover of my soul, 
Let me to thy bosom fly." 

Now, she has got to her desired haven, I 

make no doubt, but that she has got com, 

panions more to her taste, than ever she 

had in Auburn, or in Utica. 

Wishing you may get safely through, 

I am sincerely yours, 

John Oliphant. 

LETTER V. 
To Mr. Frederick Brown. 

Auburn, July 31,1831. 

Dear Brother — You have no doubt, 
been, partially, informed of my situation. 
I have thought it might be pleasant to you 
to receive a letter from my own hand, es- 
pecially, as I do not expect to see your 
face in this world, any more. 

In looking back, and taking a survey of 
my wasted life, although there is much to 



03 



depress my spirits, yet there appear some 
bright spots in my journey, through the 
wilderness ; and none more so, than those 
seasons, in which I have had pleasure, in 
the society of the children of God — in 
holding communion with them — and in 
uniting with them in prayer. Dear bro- 
ther, I was not, very extensively, ac- 
quaintance with the feelings of your heart 
— with your easily besetting sins — or with 
your honesty, or dishonesty, before God, 
in your approaches to him. But I would 
testify, that your prayers, in our addresses 
to our dear Father, afforded me a joy that 
a stranger intermeddieth not with. And I 
do believe, that while you was addressing 
our Lord, in our approaches to his mercy 
seat, my soul did join in the requests which 
you made, and that we did, truly, have 
fellowship together, with our heavenly Fa. 
ther. 

In our intercourse, I have been a bene- 
fit, or an injury, to you ; and you have been 
a benefit, or an injury, to me. With res- 



94 



pect to myself, O how guilty ! I might 
have done more good than I have. In- 
deed, I feel, at present, as if I will justify 
my Lord in all that he says. Should he 
say in the judgment — You were ashamed 
of me, and .of my words, in the world ; 
now, I am ashamed of you, in the pre- 
sence of my Father, and this assembled 
world ; it will be just. O precious Jesus, 
if thou slay me, yet will I trust in thee, 
and I will flee to thy gracious arms. 

Since I have come to the verge of 
life, I possess a clearness of vision, I ne- 
ver had before. Many things that I once 
could not tell whether they were sins or 
not — or if I did not feel that they were 
perfectly right, I could so excuse, and pal- 
liate, as to conceal their offensiveness ; 
now appear to be provoking sins, against 
the blessed God. O the blindness, and 
pride, of my heart ! I also find a wonder- 
ful change in my memory. Things which 
I had entirely forgotten, ox which I had 
Hot recollected for years, come, distinctly, 



05 



before my mind, and cause me to hasten 
to my Lord, and to cry — " Jesus, thou son 
of David, have mercy on me." 

I could suggest to you, many things 
wherein I had greatly erred ; but if your 
heart is as foolish as mine, you will forget 
them in a few hours. One great error of 
my life, has been, in putting eternal things 
out of their place ; and in supplying their 
place, with things of time. This has oc- 
casioned a strange listlessness — a certain 
kind of idleness — an unpardonable want of 
punctuality in secret prayer, which makes 
every thing else go wrong. Neglecting 
secret prayer, the soul becomes heedless, 
in watching — careless, about abstaining 
from the appearance of evil — inactive, in 
visiting — listless, in conversation — indif- 
ferent, with respect to holding communion 
with God, and his humble, spiritual chil- 
dren. No wonder my life has been wast- 
ed ! Well may I cry out — my leanness, 
my leanness ! There are some blessed 
children of God, that begin right, and 



9<) 



go straight on their way, honouring God 
as they go. Such, indeed, will have an 
abundant entrance, into the kingdom of our 
Lord, ministered unto them ; while I feel 
as if I shall weep for joy, to eternity, if he 
can, in the last day, say unto me — " Come 
ye blessed of my Father." Should this 
be the case, I donbt not, but that, on hear- 
ing these words, I shall, instantly, be on 
my face, and admire, and adore ; and I 
shall delight to lie low at his feet, through 
eternity. O it is my place to walk softly, 
before him forever. O with all my un- 
worthiness, he does not now, and he will 
not hereafter, treat me according to my 
deserts. Indeed, I already feel like sing- 
ing Hallelujah — My heart is already in 
tune, to touch the golden harp, and sing— 
M Worthy is the Lamb that was slain." O 
I shall see his face with joy, for was it his 
pleasure to deal with me, according to my 
sins, he would not show me the things 
which I see ; nor grant me the feelings 
which I enjoy. 



Dear brother, shall I see you in the 
world of wonders ? O live near to God — 
make sure work for eternity — lay out 
yourself for God, as you go. O work 
while it is day : and I think I shall see 
you again, and take you by the hand ; and 
we shall, together, adore, and love, the 
most holy One. 

I am, dear brother, still in the kingdom 
and patience of Jesus. 

Yours sincerely, 

John Olipiiant, 




LETTER VI. 



To Mr. and Mrs. Marshall. 

Auburn, Sept. 4, 1831. 
Dear Brother and Sister — Feeling as I 
do on the confines of eternity, and every 
moment getting nearer, and nearer, to it- 
lying on the very brink of the river of 
death ; and viewing the stream gliding 
sweetly by me ; waiting and looking out 
for the coming of the Son of man ; as 
the end of my pilgrimage appears more 
9 



98 



distinctly in view, I long to be holy, that I 
may see him as he is, and be with him, 
whom my soul loveth. I am anxiously 
waiting, for his appearance, that I may 
get down at his feet, and begin my never 
ending employment, to bless him to eter- 
nity. I feel ready, and willing, to quit my 
hold of all those things, that have occu- 
pied me in the world ; and am anticipating, 
a thrill of unknown joy, when I shall, dis- 
tinctly, perceive the prints in his hands, 
and begin to join the general assembly, 
singing, " Worthy is the Lamb that was 
slain." 

I am yet a living witness, that to them 
who believe he is precious. How often 
in the wilderness, since I came out of E- 
gypt, about forty years ago, has he satiated 
my soul with his goodness ! How often 
under a deep sense of my guilt andpollu. 
tion, and while filled with shame and re- 
morse, have I been overwhelmed, and cap- 
tivated, w 7 ith some view of the most pre- 
cious Redeemer ; or by some sweet word 



99 



of his promise, been encouraged to trust 
in him ! 

I could not do other than to come to 
him weeping with joy ; knowing, experi- 
mentally, that the Son of man hath power 
on earth to forgive sins. Dear brother 
and sister, O how shall I speak of his 
kindness, during the last eight months, 
when he gave me a true token, that I 
should soon see him in the light of eter- 
nity. He has, surely, kept some of his 
best wine to the last. he makes it 
sweetly light at eventide, and gives me a 
relish, and an appetite, for spiritual pro- 
vision, of which I had very inadequate 
ideas, while coming through the wilder- 
ness. Sometimes I look over the river, 
and listen to the song of the redeemed, 
and humbly endeavour to join them, and 
imbibe their spirit. I stretch my eye to 
the place where his honour dwelleth, and 
long to mingle in their employment. I 
range among, and view the amazing per- 
fections of God, sometimes one, and some- 



100 



times another ; and while looking, I can 
distinctly perceive the glory of the Most 
High, expanding, and looking greater in 
m y e ye ? than I ever saw it before — His 
separate perfections mingle their glories, 
until I, sweetly bewildered, cry, " Who is 
a God like nnto thee ? O the height ! O 
the depth, of the amazing glory ! Who 
would not fear — who would not love 
thee?" 

Surely, I have never before, as I have 
lately, seen, that over all his other glories, 
his sweet purity casts a divine radiance, 
that illumines, and enlivens, the worlds of 
light ; and fills every inhabitant, with the 
deepest awe — the most profound rever- 
ence — and while I am in meditation on 
this subject, before even I am aware, I 
feel myself less than nothing, and vanity ; 
I long to get down at his feet ; I cannot 
get down low enough ; O, it is sweet to 
lie low before God ; and I do lament that 
I cannot feel more humble. I look around 
me, and discover the millions of the re- 



101 



deemed on their faces before the throne. 
O to join them ! Indeed I think this is one 
of the happiest spots I ever saw ; I feel 
myself to have arrived on the very banks 
of Jordan ; the world withers and fades 
from my view ; the things of eternity come 
near ; they seem real, and are quite sub- 
stantial, in my eye ; the glory of God ev- 
ery ; thing myself nothing ; his will de- 
lightful to me ; my own seems lost. I 
feel sometimes as if I had none. It is 
matter of indifference to me, whether he 
comes at midnight, or in the morning 
watch ; whether all alone, or in the midst 
of my family ; I sometimes, look up, and 
wishfully say, " How long, Lord — how 
long ?" but generally, check myself, sa} r - 
ing, " All the days of my appointed time 
will I wait, till my change come." 

My mind has been, remarkably, clear ; 
there, surely, is a clearness of vision, in 
those that lie right on the river side, that 
they, who live far back in the wilderness, 
can have no conception of. You know it 
9* 



102 



is said, " He that believeth shall not make 
haste." I sit down, and calmly look 
around me ; I, deliberately look at the 
ground I have trod ; and look at the mo- 
tives of my heart, as I have come on my 
journey ; and am convinced, and certain, 
that if the Lord deals with me, according 
to my deserts, I sink to hell — and all hea- 
ven, and hell, and myself, must approve 
the sentence. But O, glory forever be on 
his head, who was separated from his 
brethren. I am not now, left to inquire, 
what shall I do to be saved ? When I was 
about twenty years of age, through grace, 
I believe I, honestly, repented of sin ; and 
fled to Jesus, and found him all, and in all, 
to my soul ; and now, through grace, 
when I am sixty, I hope I, honestly, re- 
pent of sin ; and flee to Jesus, and have 
no refuge beside. And under a view of 
my unprofitable, my wasted life, I cling 
closer to the Most Precious, and say, " O 
precious blood of sprinkling ! O wondrous 
fountain opened for si a, and uncleanness ! 



103 



and without which, after all, I should be 
undone." 

I rejoice, that report says, that you are 
a working Christian. May the Most High 
keep you in the way ; and he will do it, if 
you are kept humble, and dependent upon 
him. O seek not great things for thyself, 
in this world ; but let your eye, and your 
heart, and your treasure, be above, and 
the Lord will make you a blessing. 

O, cease from man, whose breath is in 
his nostrils ; for wherein is he accounted 
of? O, it is the sweetest life, in the world, 
to live as seeing him, that is inyissible ; to 
act as in his presence, and to feel, that what 
we do is approved of by him. O for more 
of such honest, simple hearted, commun- 
ion with him. O what shall I do, my dear 
brother and sister, as I am stepping into 
the river, unless I can get a firm hold of 
the Most Precious. But he said, " Fear 
not to go down, for I will be with thee ;" 
and he has almost assured me, that as I 
pass over, th e enemy shall be still. 



104 



And now that the world is withered, 
and sad ; and all creature dependence is 
vain, I turn away my eyes from beholding 
vanity ; and look to the hills, whence 
cometh salvation. I lie at the feet of my 
sovereign God, and say, I have w T aited for 
thy salvation. I sometimes, say, " Whom 
have I in heaven but thee V* Sometimes, I 
say, " Lord, now lettest thou thy servant 
depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen 
thy salvation." Sometimes, I say, " I 
know in whom I have believed, and can 
trust him. And, sometimes, with Stephen, 
I say, " Lord Jesus, receive my spirit" — 
and when he says, " Behold I come quick- 
ly," I say, " Even so, come, Lord Jesus." 
But, often, in my happiest moments, un- 
der a view of my wasted life, I wonder 
how he can put me among his children ; 
and I sink down, at his feet, and cry, " Not 
unto me, O Lord, not unto me, but to thy 
name shall be all the glory." My dear 
brother and sister, do abstain from the ap- 
pearance of evil — watch where your dan- 



105 



ger lies. O, maintain a simple, honest, 
heart, with a most precious Redeemer, 
O, keep your armour tight about you, un- 
til Jesus comes ; and then he will not find 
you idle, and I hope to see you enter into 
the joy of our Lord ; and we together 
shall serve, and bless, him through eter- 
nity. 

With much esteem, and gratitude, 

John Oliphant. 

LETTER VII. 
To his Sox. 

Auburn, Nov. 13, 1831. 
My Dear Son — I have been exceed- 
ingly gratified, in receiving your pleasant 
communications, both as it regards your 
health, and your feelings, respecting the 
glorious displays of the riches of divine 
grace, in the recovery of guilty, and pol- 
luted, sinners, from ruin. My soul prays, 
for you, that you may retain these anxious 
desires, for the salvation of men ; that ho- 



106 



ly aptitude, and readiness, to serve the 
blessed Redeemer ; that willingness to 
work, the work of him, that hath sent you, 
that will bear inspection, in the light of 
eternity ; that preparedness of heart, to 
meet temptation, and in the midst of snares, 
to go right on your way. My dear son, 
in order to do this, you will have to culti- 
vate, and be in the practice of living near 
to God, of lying very low at his feet, 
watching unto prayer, and hanging upon 
his arm every moment, for every separate 
duty ; and for resistance to every sin. May 
my dear son, find out what the most Holy 
means, when he speaks of singleness of 
eye, of simplicity of heart, of that tender 
love to your dear Father, that casts out 
all fear. Dear son, being shielded by the 
armour of God, and having on the breast- 
plate of faith, and love, watching unto 
prayer ; and leaning on the strength of the 
Almighty, you may be saved, from back- 
sliding, and from dishonouring the most 
Holy Lamb of God, as I have done. The 



107 



best of your days have been wasted in tri- 
fles ; now, trim your lamp, and keep your 
armour tight about you, and the Lord will 
make even your enemies, to be at peace 
with you. I believe, I have before inform- 
ed you, that on new year's day, 1792, the 
glorious God condescended to have mer- 
cy on me, and plucked me, as a brand from 
the burning ; and led me, to behold a most 
precious Redeemer, as my all, and in all. 
About that time, I heard a discourse on 
Deuteronomy viii. 2. Little did I then 
think that I should live forty years, in the 
wilderness ; little did I then think, al- 
though I was told, of the evils which were 
in my heart ; little did I then think, that 
any trials I should meet with in the wilder- 
ness, could ever induce me to be ungrate- 
ful. O, little did I then think, that if the 
Lord would be kind, in providence, or in 
grace, I could ever be self-willed, or feel 
independent, and rebel against his author- 
ity. O, my dear son, since I have come 
to the very edge of this Jordan, things do 



108 



not look as they did in ordinary life. It 
appears incredible, that on the spot, where 
I now lay, and with my present feelings, I 
could ever be such a fool, and so willing a 
slave to the drudgery of Satan, as to spond 
a whole evening at a theatre. O what 
have I lost, and how much I lament it 
now. In the course of my journey, the 
most holy, and wonderful God hath led 
me, in the way of prosperity. I was 
proud and unthankful. I have known con- 
siderable adversity, and disappointment ; 
and have fretted, murmured, and rebelled. 
He favored me with a good constitution, 
and along course of good health, which, 
without doubt, was the most unprofitable 
part of my life ; and under every view, I 
can take of myself, and in every situation 
in life, in which I have been placed, I have 
been a wretch, a mere cumberer of the 
ground ; and if 1 am to stand, or fall, by 
any action of my life, even the best I ever 
performed, as true, as I am now writing, 
J shall make my bed in hell. But blessed 



109 



be God, about forty years ago, I cried, 
" Save Lord, or I perish," and blessed be 
God, now, on the very edge of Jordan, I 
cry, " Save Lord, or I perish." O forever 
blessed be his holy name, he is the hiding- 
place from the storm, or I am undone, for, 
indeed, 1 have none other. O, Jesus ! I 
to thee, to hide me. One object, which 
I have in view, in writing this letter, is to 
save you, my dear son, from the misery, 
into which 1 have fallen, by advising ycm 
to avoid the way, that leads into it. I traco 
the beginning of all my sorrows, to a want 
of honest fervor, in secret prayer. My 
dear son, keep a constant watch on this. 
I wasted a great part of my early life, in 
reading what I found, aftenvards, to b8 
very injurious to me. I was puffed up 
with pride, thinking I knew a great deal ; 
this threw me off my guard, and became 
a snare to me. Dear son, do endeavor to 
redeem the time which you have lost. A 
short time before you were born, the cares 
of the world, came in like a flood ; and rn, 
10 



110 



siead of my cleaving, closer, to God, by 
prayer and supplication, my heart wander- 
ed away. I strove, in my own~strength, 
to bear up against the storm ; but was 
carried away, and made shipwreck/to a 
great extent, of my profession. I retain- 
ed the form of religion, with my wife, and 
children"; but was destitute of the power, 
or enjoyment, of it. Afterwards, when 
my'temporal affairs became prosperous, J[ 
forgot him, from whom all my favors 
came. I conformed to the world — .sought 
my pleasures, in the objects of sense ; and 
although I had the means of doing good, 
I threw it away, on self-gratification, and 
extravagance. My God, I cry, how canst 
thou put me among thy children. O pre- 
cious blood of atonement — O wondrous 
fountain opened— O glorious covenant of 
redemption ! I yet hope that I shall short- 
ly stand, on the heights of Zion ; and with 
the millions of redeemed ones cry aloud, 
" Salvation to our God, that sitteth upon 
the throne, and unto the Lamb, be glory, 



Ill 



tmd honor, forever and ever !" May^I thea 
say, Here am I, and the children whom 
thou hast given me. 

1 am, beloved son, your affectionate 
father, John Oliphant. 

REFLECTIONS. 

The following reflections ^ivere left 
iamong Mr. Oliphant's papers, and seem to 
have been penned with a view, to let his 
friends know the feelings of his mind on 
the momentous subjects which they pre- 
sent : and also to bring them to entertain 
correct feelings concerning the near 
approach of eternity — the nature of the 
heavenly bliss — the solemnities of a dying 
hour— the value of the Bible, to promote 
vital godliness and usefulness in life, and 
to secure peace and triumph in death — and 
the importance and necessity, of being hon- 
est in all our transactions with a holy, and 
heart-searching God. 



112 



In Mr. Oliphant's introductory remarks 
to these reflections, he says, " The pecu- 
liar nature of my disorder rendering it cer- 
tain that my death will be sudden^— Being 
free from pain, and having my mind par- 
ticularly calm, and clear — And consider- 
ing that my life has been chiefly wasted — 
1 am induced to express some of my views 
and feelings, since I came to this spot, 
where I feel as one lingering on the very 
edge of the grave ; hoping that they may 
be a mean of doing some good, when I 
shall have finished my earthly course." 

Although some thoughts and expres- 
sions will be found in these reflections, 
similar to many contained in his other 
pieces, yet, it is believed, they will bo 
read, by those who have been pleased with 
his narrative, addresses, and letters, with 
increasing pleasure and profile 



113 



NO. L 

On A NEAE VIEW op Etbenity. 

There is a great difference in our feel- 
ings, in the near prospect of eternity, from 
what we ever attain in any other circum- 
stances — and to have this view of the 
eternal world, it must be reduced to a 
certainty that we shall shortly die, for so 
long as there is any hope of life, the world 
will retain its value and importance. Such 
is the deceitfulness of our hearts, and the 
infatuating influence of the prospect of 
continued life, as that they prevent eternal 
things from making any serious impression 
on our minds. 

As I did not, when first taken ill, under- 
stand the nature of my disorder, I was 
anxious to obtain all the information re- 
specting it, I could. I consulted eighteen 
physicians, who all agreed in the opinion 
that I could not recover ^ and they assur- 
ed me, that my deatli would be sudden. 
When first informed of it, and I began to 
10* 



114 



believe it true, the thoughts of giving up 
my account to God, filled me with fear, 
and I was seized with trembling. When 
I came to look up to God, my blessed Fa- 
ther, in prayer, I became greatly alarmed. 
I do not know that I was then living far- 
ther from him than ordinary ; still, the new 
situation, into which I was brought, con- 
vinced me that I was not living in a wait- 
ing, watching, posture ; and the thought, of 
soon giving in my final account, was truly 
startling. But blessed, forever, be his glo- 
rious name, after about twenty-four hours, 
while engaged in prayer, the compassion 
of God appeared boundless, through the 
Son of his love — I could cling to him — tho 
bitterness of death seemed almost passed, 
and I felt assured, that as I passed over 
Jordan, the waters would not overwhelm 
me. The conduct of tho Lord appeared 
so lovely to me, that I blessed him on the 
spot, for giving me such a gracious intima- 



115 

tion of my approaching death, and such 
sweet consolations, in view of my soon 
leaving this world. 

How different my views, since I came 
to this spot, from what I ever had before ! 
Eternal things appear, now, real and sub* 
stantial, whereas they once appeared only 
imaginary, or speculative. The world, 
now looks withered and dead, whereas it, 
once, looked fair, necessary, and substan- 
tial. Once, when 1 looked over death, all 
appeared obscure, gloomy, and dark ; now 
there is a sweet clear light which shines, 
all the way ; and the path through a 
Saviour's blood, appears as firm and good, 
on the other side of Jordan as it is on this. 
Once, the prospect of long life, and con. 
tinued health, were very pleasing consid- 
erations ; now, there is nothing so dark 
and gloomy, as going back again into the 
world, and being a mere cumberer of the 
ground, as I have been. I am satisfied 
there is nothing so sweet, as to feel eternity 
neaf— to be pleased to be in the Lord's 



11G 



hands — to have no desire, nor will of one's 
own — to live to his honor, and glory, and to 
find this to be the very food, and nourish- 
ment, of one's soul. I formerly prayed that 
the Lord would feed me with food conven- 
ient for me, and now I enjoy this food great- 
ly, in a dying hour, and hope to have a 
better appetite when the Lamb shall feed 
me, and lead me to living fountains of 
water, and God shall wipe away all tears 
from my eyes — Yes, I shall be satisfied 
when I awake in his likeness. 

About the time, that these w r ere my feel- 
ings, I was accustomed to write to my 
friends, or send them some token of my 
christian love. One evening, after I had 
written a letter to my christian brother, the 
Rev. Jared Curtis of Boston, in which I 
stated my feelings in view of death, two 
ladies called to see me. I told them, free- 
ly, how kind the Lord was to me, and the 
pleasing prospect I had of, shortly, seeing 
the blessed Son of Man. One of them 
said, " I understand you have an aneur- 



ism," and expressed a wish to see it. I, 
immediately, shewed her my breast. She 
said, " it was without doubt an aneurism," 
but added " I knew a man who had one, 
for upwards of twenty years. With care, 
Mr. Oliphant, you may live a long time, 
and be a comfort to your family. Tho 
man, of whom I speak, lost his life at last, 
by over exertion, and you may do the 
same. The Lord has in a good measure, 
put your life into your own hands ; and all 
that is necessary, on your part, is to be 
very cautious." I thanked her, and am 
convinced that what she said was in per- 
fect kindness ; but it produced a very 
unhappy change in my feelings. It ap- 
peared to me, before this, as if I had dis- 
posed of wife, and children. The world, 
life, and death, were all laid aside, or, at 
least, they were taken off my shoulders ; 
but, after this visit, J, soon, began to feel 
them all yoked about my neck, as much as 
ever ; and they had such an effect on my 
mind that, in three days, when attempting 



119 



to pray, 1 felt as if the whole world had 
come in between the Lord and my soul, 
and I could not find access to his blessed 
throne. But although I am living much 
beyond the time, I supposed I should, it be- 
ing the 5th of June, 1831, I feel now that 
the Lord restoreth my soul, and giveth mo 
the pleasure of lying at his feet, willing to 
wait, or willing to go, having no anxiety as 
to the time, or mode, of my death. Though 
I think I have not, generally, thai pleasant 
relish ; that tender nearness ; that simple 
childlike confidence, in God, which I had 
enjoyed, previous to the conversation just 
alluded to ; yet I keep looking out, and 
waiting, for his appearing ; and hope, ere 
long, to be landed at the desired haven, 
" where the wicked cease from troubling, 
and the weary are at rest." 

Since I came to the water side, I have 
been favored with clearer and more dis- 
tinct views of truth, on several subjects, 
than I ever had before ; and I rather think 
that such views cannot be had from any 



119 



other spot— I mean such views of the lit- 
tleness, and vanity, of all things of aa 
earthly nature, and of their unsuitableness 
to satisfy the desires of the soul. O, I 
meditate with wonder and delight, on the 
wisdom, and goodness, of God, in so ar- 
ranging these matters. I never before saw r 
as I do now, the blessedness of those who 7 
in early life, and with decision of heart, 
give themselves up to God — commit their 
all into a Saviour's hands — and who are 
enabled to walk, straight on, adorning the 
doctrine of God their Saviour. 

Soon after I arrived on the banks of this 
Jordan ; and was favored with some near 
views of God, and with sweet peace in 
believing in a most precious Redeemer, I 
began to enjoy the fulfilment of that pro- 
mise, " he that believeth shall not make 
haste." I calmly sat down to look about 
me, and at the prospect before me. I was 
overjoyed with the clear view I had of the 
future world. The things of eternity be- 
came more distinct, important, and sub- 



120 



rtantial, in my eyes, than ever. The gran- 
deur, and glory, of God, appeared to 
irradiate all about me ; and his? almighti- 
ness sweetly overwhelmed me. The 
wonders of infinite wisdom appeared 
unfathomable, while his boundless com- 
passion, through the Son of his love, 
amazed me ; and I saw that there was 
an attracting charm in his sweet purity, 
that cast a radiance over all his other 
perfections. While musing on these 
glories, I could not but say, " who would 
not fear, v*ho would not love thee, Lord 
God Almighty, heaven and earth are full 
of thy Glory — O who is a God like unto 
thee ; glorious in holiness, fearful in 
praises, doing wonders' 5 — Surely, "thou 
only art holy" — I do not wonder that " he 
chargeth his angels with folly ;" for he is, 
indeed, " of purer eyes than to behold ini- 
quity." The near, and distinct views of his 
holiness, so amiable, and lovely, produced 
such an effect on my own heart, as I had 
not experienced in health, and while in 



121 



active life. O I am less than nothing, 
and vanity, and very vile in my own eyes* 
I willingly sink down, to my proper place ; 
and am delighted to feel low before him. 
Indeed, I think this is one of the happiest 
spots on this side of eternity. God is all 
and in all — myself less than nothing — I 
live in the land of Beulah ; for the Lord 
delighteth in me — -My food is nourishing 
to me — I feel strengthened, while I give 
thanks at the remembrance of his Holi- 
ness — I delight to get lower still — I bow 
and feel like getting on my face before 
him — his will is delightful to me — my 
own seems lost — I feel as if I had none — 
it appears to be a matter of indifference, at 
what time the Son of man cometh — I feel 
as if I were watching, waiting, and wil- 
ling to be at his disposal for both worlds. 
I sometimes, look up and, wishfully, say, 
" how long, Lord, how long" — but, gener- 
ally, check myself, and say, " all the days 
of my appointed time will I wait, until my 
change come." 

11 



122 



I recollect to have read, that Rousseau 
was accustomed to sail on the lake of 
Geneva, and to lie on his back, that he 
might look up, and take a view of the 
beauties of nature. O it is sweet to lie 
down, on the very edge of the river of 
death, and look up, and gaze on infinite 
purity. The glory, majesty, and holiness 
of the infinite God swells, and expands 
to my view, until it fills the whole hori- 
zon. The whole eye, the whole soul, 
becomes filled and absorbed, and satisfied. 

he is glorious in holiness. Having 
these views, I would no more think of 
appearing before him without a mediator, 
than I would think of making a world. 

1 do not see, how it is possible, that any 
can feel otherwise than humble, when 
they arrive in heaven. The inhabitants 
of that blessed place have a steady, 
unwavering view of the Most High. The 
disproportion between infinite, and finite, 
is with them a reality, and the recollection 



123 



of their former vileness, must forever be 
a source of deep humility. 

Since I have had such enlarged views 
of eternal things, 1 have been learning a 
new way of getting humility. Formerly, 
I confined my attention to my own heart, 
my own actions, and my wasted life, in 
order that I might obtain humility ; but 
now, I pray with Moses, " I beseech thee 
shew me thy glory," and, before I am 
aware, I cry " Lord I am vile" — and 
while I am saying, "O wretched man 
that I am ;" and am getting down lower, 
I cannot but bless, and love, and adore 
my Maker, Like Job I exclaim, " I have 
often heard Gf thee, by the hearing of the 
ear, but now mine eye seeth thee, where- 
fore I repent, and abhor myself in dust 
and ashes." When John had a full, and 
a precious view of Jehovah Jesus, he felt 
abased, and fell very low before such 
glory. 

I have seen the time, when I could 
stand praying, I dare say, about as well. 



124 



and felt as important, as any Pharisee ; 
but " blessed be God," through his bound- 
less mercy, I trust he has brought me to 
feel like praying on my knees. O I do 
not wonder that in glory, where the re- 
deemed get so much nearer, and have so 
much clearer vision, that they, with one 
consent, fall down on their faces. There 
is not a hypocrite among them ; for the 
inhabitants of heaven are all righteous ; 
and even the angels, that never sinned, 
fall down before such holiness — saying, 
in the sincerity of their hearts — " Amen, 
blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and 
thanksgiving, and honour, and power, and 
might, be unto our God, for ever and ever, 
Amen." "Solomon in all his glory," in 
the eyes of the wisest, and best of men, 
never looked so amiable, nor appeared in 
a character so becoming a worshipper of 
the Most High, as when kneeling in pray- 
er to God, in the presence of his subjects ; 
but the kings, and great men of this 
world, have not, generally, been pleased 



125 



So follow this example. In heaven the 
higher the authority, the more humility, 
" whether they be thrones, or dominions, 
principalities or powers, or angels, or 
arch-angels, cherubim, or seraphim," Ga- 
briel, or Michael, or the " four and twenty 
elders," their highest happiness consists in 
their deep humility, before the most Holy. 
When the Lord shews to the heavenly 
hosts the wonders of his creating power, 
they bow before the throne, and with one 
consent unite in saying, " thou art worthy 
O Lord to receive glory, and honor, and 
power, for thou hast created all things, 
and for thy pleasure they are, and were 
at first created." The millions of the 
redeemed, by the blood of the Lamb, 
never see the prints in his hands, but with 
a new gush of feeling, they fall down be- 
fore him, singing, "worthy is the Lamb that 
was slain, to receive power, and riches, 
and wisdom and strength, and honour, and 
glory, and blessing." And when the holy 
and sovereign God executes his righteous 
11* 



126 



judgements on his enemies, the whole 
army of heaven, angels and men, join, as 
with one heart, and soul, and sing, " hal- 
lelujah ; for the Lord God omnipotent 
reigneth — Amen, hallelujah. " With what 
profound reverence, and deep humility, do 
the general assembly and church of the 
first born, listen to the mighty thunder- 
in gs, and see the glorious lightnings pro- 
ceeding from beneath the throne of God, 
and the lamb ! Possibly there are signals 
of attention to the hosts of the redeemed, 
that some new glory in the Most Holy is 
about to be unfolded, and their sweet 
humility, and obedience, is seen in their 
rushing, as the sound of many waters, to 
view the new glory of him that liveth for 
ever'and ever. O there cannot be on^ 
grain of pride in heaven ; and the exis- 
tence of it on earth, is a certain demon- 
stration of the entire depravity of the hu- 
man heart. There, surely, cannot be a 
more distant feeling from the spirit of 
heaven'jhan pride — 



127 



There shall I bathe my weary soul 

In seas of heavenly rest; 
And not a wave of trouble roll 

Across my peaceful breast. 

It is delightful to see the birds, and the 
fishes, sporting in their own element. 
They feel perfectly at home. So when all 
those, that are made partakers of the 
divine nature, shall be brought to heaven, 
they will be perfectly at home, being pre- 
pared for the place, and the place prepar- 
ed for them. Perfect love will cast out 
fear ; and with cheerful hearts they will 
forever sing, and love, and praise, and 
abound in acts of perfect obedience. 

I am satisfied, that all the redeemed, in 
glory , have a distinct recollection of " the 
deeds done in the body ;" for they sing 
" unto him that loved us, and washed us 
from our sins in his own blood, be glory 
and honor forever." This is necessary 
to constitute the humility of heaven — but 
will it not interrupt its bliss? I know 
that in this world, when I have doni 



12S 



wrong, and have become sensible of it, I 
cannot do otherwise than repent, and feel 
shame on account of it. O how must 
Joseph's brethren feel every time they 
look at him, or their father Jacob ? must 
not a blush arise on their countenances ? 
They will indeed recollect all that they 
did — and all that the Lord did, to accom- 
plish the purposes of his mercy ; but the 
father, and the sons, will turn their eyes 
towards the midst of the throne, and bow, 
and adore, feeling equally indebted to 
sovereign love. And how many will 
meet together, from different parts of the 
earth, under the shade of that tree " whose 
leaves are for the healing of the nations," 
and while they taste the sweetness of par- 
doned sin, will bow together, before God, 
communing with each other, and saying, 
" not unto us — not unto us — but unto thy 
name be all the glory." And poor Peter, 
how must he feel when he sees his Lord ? 
Should a blush appear on his face, it will 
add to his beauty — bis Lord will indeed 



129 



turn again to look upon him— but Peter, 
will strike his harp on a new key—" Wor- 
thy is the lamb that was slain. " O I cannot 
imagine how I shall feel, though I often 
endeavor to realize how I can see his face, 
or hold up my head in his presence. I 
sometimes, think that he will excuse my 
shedding some tears, while I look on him, 
whom I have pierced, and see the prints 
in his hands, received on my account. 
When he shall say, " come ye blessed of 
my father, — I shall, surely, be, instantly, 
on my face ; and an assembled world 
will know afresh that he is omnipotent, 
and infinitely gracious, when they shall 
see that my robes have been washed white 
in the blood of the Lamb. Thus, though 
I am convinced I shall have a perfect 
recollection of the sin of my wasted life ; 
yet, such is the goodness and wisdom of 
the God whom I serve, that I believe he 
will so contrive it, that my sin shall be a 
means of heightening his glory, and of 
in creasing my own happiness, in making 



130 



me more humble forever. In the exer- 
cise of which humility, a great part of 
the happiness of heaven must certainly 
consist. 

NO IL 

On the Society and Esiployment of 
Heaven. 

Since I have taken such a near view of 
eternity, I have been surprised to find, in 
many parts of the Scriptures, which I had 
formerly overlooked, texts which refer to 
the future world, full of glory and beauty. 
In my meditations on eternal things I 
formerly, did not extend my views beyond 
death, but rested satisfied with the general 
thought, that they who died in Jesus were 
supremely blest ; and that they who died in 
unbelief were infinitely miserable. Now, 
I am convinced that life and immortality 
are indeed brought to light by the gospel ; 
and that it is proper to notice, all that the 
Bible teaches concerning the future world. 
Under the guidance of this blessed book, 



131 



and by an eye of faith, I can now cast a 
thought across the river — can listen to 
the songs of the redeemed, and admire 
their unwearied activity, the constancy of 
their joy, and the infinite variety of their 
employments. What captivates my mind, 
is their pure and exalted service — they 
worship the Most High continually — and 
while prostrate, cry, " Holy, holy, holy, is 
the Lord, God, Almighty, which is, and 
which was, and which is to come — they 
serve him day and night in his temple." 

with what effulgent glory do all his 
holy perfections illumine the happy minds 
of the blessed ! I feel overwhelmed with 
a sense of his awful majesty ; yet find 
him approachable, through the beloved. 

1 am convinced that no flesh, can stand 
in his presence, but through the atoning 
sacrifice of Jesus. Through him, the 
body being safe in the grave, the soul is 
purified, strengthened, and made an eter* 
nal excellency, to the glory of his infinite 



132 

name. From the taste I have had, I long 
for the full fruition. Most earnestly do I 
desire to see God, and bask in the glory 
of his mingled perfections, his mercy, and 
truth, and wisdom, and goodness, until my 
vessel is filled, and I take my place for 
eternity. Two sources of high gratifica- 
tion have cheered me, while passing thro* 
this world — the society with whom I have 
been associated — and the employments of 
that society. There is nothing clearer 
than this, that two cannot walk together 
except they be agreed, and in this particu- 
lar, I have been most highly favored, 
both in Europe, and in America, which 
I consider one of the happiest circumstan- 
ces of my life. I believe that even in 
christian churches, there may, at times, 
not be many with whom one can perfectly 
associate. The different cast of mind, 
stations in life, modes of education, or 
some small difference of views, on some 
unimportant subject, keep professors asun- 
der. I have observed that, even among 



133 



those who commune at the same table, 
there are comparatively few who perfectly 
join in prayer, or praise ; or are so united 
in their feelings, as to rejoice, or weep to- 
gether. In meeting with kindred spirits, 
I have been favored, and, in heaven, ex- 
pect a higher degree of happiness, of this 
kind. There David and Jonathan, will 
not be separated, nor the two disciples, 
that went to Emmaus, be any more sad. 
Elijah will no more say, " I only am left 
alone," nor Paul any more complain of 
false brethren ; for its inhabitants " shall 
be all righteous and they shall see eye 
to eye. While in this world, I think, I 
could get acquainted much easier with 
Eliezer, Abraham's servant, than with 
Abraham himself, who looks so dignified, 
and whose faith is so strong, that he seems 
altogether beyond me ; still I feel that I 
love Abraham. I have known christians, 
with' whom I have become well acquain- 
ted, in half an hour — so much so, that we 
could unite in prayer, and honestlv, lay 
12 



134 



our hearts open togethej, before our 
Father in heaven— such as William Fra- 
zer of Wheatland ;* and my friend D. C, 
Lansing. — And I have known christians, 
with whom I have been partial!} acquaint- 
ed for years, and been with them in con- 
ference, and prayer meetings ; yet, could 
never have intimate communion, or fellow- 
ship with them ; still I think I have this 
mark about me, that I love the brethren ; 
and when I have discovered in them the 
temper of Jesus, my soul has been knit to 
them. But in heaven all will feel as one. 

With regard to the employments of 
those who love our Lord, they cannot 
live, in this world, without prayer ; nor in 
eternity without praise. I can remember 
the hill Mizar, and could mention several 
times, and places, when the Lord has blest 
his ordinances in the congregations of his 
people, and in the social circle — Indeed T 
can say 



* See Appendix B. 



135 



* The hill of Zion yields 

A thousand sacred sweets, 
Before we reach the heavenly fields, 

Or walk the golden streets." 

I think I have sung in the very spirit of 
the following verse. 

" Welcome — sweet day of rest — 

That saw the Lord arise I 
Welcome to this reviving breast, 
And these rejoicing eyes." 

And not unfrequently at the table of the 
Lord, have I held sweet commune with 
him, and with his dear children. O it is a 
foretaste of the glory, just ready to be 
revealed ; — and how transporting the 
thought, that I have only to step over into 
eternity, and find company to my taste, 
into whose feelings I shall immediately 
enter, and in whose happy employments, I 
shall instantly unite ? O with what zest 
will the two disciples, who w r ent to 
Emmaus, tell over their story of a Sav- 
iour's love, while their hearts are burning 
within them. With what rapture shall 
the millions of the redeemed, view the 



glories of the iamb, and burst into an 
eternal song of praise ? They, and I too, 
shall as the heart of one man, fall before 
him, who is seated on the throne, and, in 
the deepest humility, find our highest 
happiness in acts of adoration, and praise* 
In the ordinances of the gospel, the name 
of the Lord has been " as ointment pour- 
ed forth," which filled the house with fra- 
grance. O, with what transports of joy, 
shall I hear his name, when among the 
just made perfect, I shall be made meet to 
be a partaker of the inheritance of the 
saints in light ! With what joy, have I, 
sometimes, discovered a new beauty in 
the divine law, while reflecting upon the 
glory of his character, as it shines in the 
cross of Jesus ! O, it has refreshed me 
for my journey, and in the strength thus 
obtained, I have travelled many days. In 
eternity, it shall no more be said, we are 
Li faint yet pursuing ;" but] we shall see him 
face to face. " The moon will be con- 
founded ; and the sun ashamed, when the 



137 



Lord of Hosts shall reign in Mount Zion, 
and in Jerusalem, and before his ancients , 
gloriously." 

With wondering joy I'll recollect 

My fears and dangers past, 
And bless the wisdom, power, and Jove, 

That brought me safe at last. 

It is sweetly refreshing only to taste of the 
brook, but what the full fruition will be, 
I cannot comprehend. But bowing to 
thy holy will, I cheerfully wait the signal, 
and in the mean time, cry, " come Lord 
Jesus." 

The process to obtain humility, in this 
life, is not very pleasant ; but when 
largely obtained, it yields the peaceable 
fruits of righteousness ; and in truth, there 
can be no honest enjoyment of Qod f 
either here, or hereafter, without it. I 
long for the perfect humility of heaven. 
I long to take my station as a door keep- 
er, or as any thing else, so that I may but 
see his face, sing of his love, and bless his 
name ; and thus, while the ages of eterni- 
12* 



138 



ty are gliding away, my society, and my 
employments, may be what my soul sin- 
cerely loves. Having come to the gener- 
al assembly, and church of the first born, 
whose names are written in heaven ; and 
to Jesus the mediator of the new cove- 
nant ; and to the blood of sprinkling ; 
and to God the Judge of all ; I shall love 
and serve him forever — O boundless mer- 
cy — « O the heights— O the depths, of 
the love of God." I am an infinite 
debtor — I get down, and want to get lower, 

wonderful God, do forgive me, if I do 
wrong in hoping, or expecting, such 
favours of which L am so unworthy. I 
do not wonder, that thy children feel, as 
grasshoppers in thy presence, and less 
than nothing, and vanity. In the midst of 
my highest hopes, and brightest prospects, 

1 frequently pray, " O gather not my soul 
with sinners, as I justly deserve. I fly to 
" the maa that is an hiding place from the 
storm, and a covert from the tempest 



139 



and perceive that he, himself, has borne 
the storm, and therefore, there is hope in 
Israel, and even in my case. 

It appears, that all things in heaven, 
earth, and hell, are all in motion ; and that 
a state of inactivity, is contrary to the 
divine will ; and contrary to the whole 
course of nature. I am not astonished at 
the Lord's saying, " why stand ye here all 
the day idle." It is, indeed, true, that 
satan always finds something for the idle 
to do ; and the Bible has established the 
fact, that an idle man cannot be happy 9 
while the diligent becomes rich, and the 
liberal soul is made fat. I am fully per- 
suaded, that no idle person can live in 
heaven — every one has sufficient to do, 
and in the doing of it, there is great 
reward. Since coming to the borders of 
the grave, I have seen so much of the im- 
portance of industrious habits, and so 
much evil in the opposite, that I feel, that 
could one idle person enter heaven, there 
would be an object for satan to work 



140 



upon ; and there would again be war in 
that blessed world. There cannot be any 
enjoyment even in this life without activi- 
ty ; and in glory, where there is eternal 
youth and sprightliness, there is full, and 
constant, employment, for all the enlarged 
powers of the mind. Faith is changed 
into sight, hope into enjoyment, and love 
is increased and perfected. But eye hath 
not seen, nor ear heard, what glories the 
Lord hath prepared for them that love 
him. O to be with him whom my soul 
loveth ! I have, sometimes, said, " O that 
thou wert as my brother, then would I kiss 
thee, yea, I should not be despised." 
Till I appear in the presence of my Lord, 
above, 1 keep wishfully looking upwards, 
and crying, " why delay the wheels of his 
chariot. 

Any man that looks upon the Sabbath 
as a day for mere animal rest, knows 
nothing of the rest intended to be enjoyed 
in the upper world. Indeed, there can 
be no enjoyment, on the Sabbath, or on any 



141 



other day, in earth, or in heaven, without 
activity. And I would testify, that some 
of the sweetest Sabbaths I ever enjoyed, 
have been those, in which I have been 
most industriously engaged in the cause 
of my Redeemer. 

D3arLord, reach down thine arm of graee, 

And cause me to ascend, 
Where congregations ne'er break up 
And Sabbath's never end." 

NO. III. 

On Death. 

I recollect to have read of a people? 
who would catch venemous serpents, ex- 
tract their stings, and, for a small induce- 
ment, carry them in their bosoms. Since 
I have been on the banks of Jordan, I 
have so seen the salvation of God, that I 
often feel like singing victory — victory, 
through the blood of the Lamb. " The 
sting of death is sin, and the strength of 
sin is the law, but thanks be to God, w ho 



142 



giveth me the victory through my Lord 
Jesus Christ." I believe in my heart, that 
the sting of death is taken away. Turn- 
ing over the subject again, and again, 
and viewing it in all its bearings, its ante- 
cedents, its concomitants, and its conse- 
quences, I verily think, that there is as 
much evidence of the favor of God in 
death, as there is in life ; and that the 
promise is as good, as particular, and aa 
strong, that the Lord will be with me 
through death, as his word, and the con- 
sciousness of possessing the character of 
his children, can make it. 

Having lived so much beyond the time, 
supposed by my physicians and friends, 
being now June 25, 1831, I take pleasure 
in anticipating my entering the valley of 
the shadow of death. Marking the 
symptoms of my dissolution — my feet 
getting cold — a fluttering pulse — respera- 
tion somewhat impeded — I calmly watch 
and keep waiting for the light of that mor- 
ning, when I shall see him whom my soul 



143 



loveth. O, to give my Lord a welcome 
to my heart for eternity ! I have already 
blessed him a thousand times, for the mode 
of my death. His kindness in this dis« 
pensation is beyond comparison- — it is so 
different from all my former fears ! It has 
often occurred to me, that I had failed in 
my race, when having every advantage for 
running — and the anxious inquiry of my 
soul has, frequently, been, what shall I do 
in the swellings of Jordan ? But now, 
the enemy is kept still, while I am favored 
with the use of my reason ; and the world 
having become more obscured to my view, 
I take a wider range, and have clearer 
perceptions of the substantial reality of 
eternity. I have been nearly all my life* 
in bondage* through fear of death— fearful 
about the mode of it — fearful of the brain 
fever — delirium, or the like. O happy 
are they, who can trust their all, soul and 
body, for time and eternity, in the hands 
of such a sovereign God ! He is always 
better to those, who trust in him, than 



144 



their fears. I am amazed that he can be 
so gracious, to such a wretch as I am. 
He seems, as if he had forgotten my 
wasted life — he never upbraids me with 
it — but I never can, nor will, forget it, or 
forgive myself— I do not see how I can 
through eternity. 

And now, I've got permission 

To leave this vale of tears, 
Thou art my good physician, 

At hand to soothe my fears. 

And with me in my passage 
Thou art, how glad and hold 

Do I receive my message — 
And let my limbs grow cold. 

The imagery employed by our Lord, in 
his word, about death, is very lovely. It 
is but a small remove — like going out of 
one room into another. It is like leaving 
a dungeon, and passing into a palace of 
glory. It is a sweet rest, after the labours 
of the day. With regard to the mode, 
time, or circumstances, of my death, I be- 
lieve I have no right to trouble myself ; 



145 



for I am not my own, and my Lord has 
kindly undertaken to conduct me through. 
He has said that he would not leave me 
in the deep waters. O Jesu3 of Naza- 
reth, may I honor thee in death — and as 
I have never gone this way before, may 
my faith be strong, and the enemy get no 
advantage over me. I rejoice that thou 
art weakening my strength in the way. 
Every thing thou dost, appears to be in 
perfect kindness — O pity me, Lord, I 
cannot yet bless thee as I would ; but I 
rejoice at every indication of approaching 
death, considering it as a sweet token 
that I shall soon be in good health for 
eternity. The triumphant state, in which 
many of my friends, and acquaintances, 
have left this world, cheers, and encour- 
ages, my heart. Since the death of 
Doct. Payson, I have observed such 
deaths more than ever. " The ransomed 
of the Lord have returned, and come to 
Zion with songs, and everlasting joy upon 
their heads. They have obtained joy and 
13 



146 



gladness, and sorrow and sighing have 
fled away." It nourished hay very soul to 
witness the manner in which my beloved 
friend, Josiah Bissell,* passed from this 
world to the next. 1 do not wonder he 
had an abundant entrance into the haven 
of rest — He was truly a working chris- 
tian while with us — he bore the heat, 
and the burden of the day ; and has 
now received the crown. Who would 
not live, act, and pray that they might 
die, as Josiah Bissell ; or as my friend 
Laura Lansing.f O blessed are the 
humble for they shall be exalted. 

Jesus the vision of thy face 

Hath overpowering charms. 
Scarce shall I feel death's cold embrace 

If thou art in my arms. 

Allow me dear Lord, to look back 
and review the way thou hast led me, 
and the experience I have had of thy 
kindness in the wilderness, thus far. 



* See Appendix C. t See Appendix JX 



14? 



Surely, thou didst captivate my hearts 
on New Year's day, in 1792. Did 1 
not honestly leave all for thy sake? did 
I not willingly? yes, cheerfully, surren- 
der myself to thy dictation ? and did 1 
not take thy yoke upon me ? And 
although I had no hope, that thou couldst 
approve, and bless, and put me among 
thy children ; yet thou knowest that I 
made no stipulation about salvation or 
heaven. All I desired was to be holy; 
and that I might never, again, dishonor 
Thee — O blessed God, was not my 
sorrow for sin, genuine, — was I not 
honest, before thee, when I used to sing 

Offspring of David, David's root, 
The stem of Jesse, Jesse's fruit ; 

Accept the fruit, the offering see. 
The produce of thy grace in mo. 

Thou, assuredly, didst bless me, as thou 
dost, only, thy children, on May 6, 1792, 
the first time, I ever went to thy tabic, 
I recall to mind, the glory of thy name, 
in saying, " O Israel thou shalt not be 



143 



forgotten of me" — I remember well the 
sweets of thy word, " with thee the 
fatherless find mercy." The saying that 
"the set time to favor Zion is come," 
was also very precious to me, about 
that period. How often, has my soul 
been as Sisera's, when she iooked out 
of the window, waiting for the chariot 
of Aminadab, and c^ied, "why is his 
chariot so long in coming? Why tarry 
the wheels of his chariot" — and the 
blessed Fear Nots of Isaiah, were as a 
feast of fat things to my soul. I call 
to mind, w hen in reading " Gammon's 
Christ the Christian's Life," how thou 
didst satisfy me, that thou w r ast my 
Father, and I was thy child. I recollect, 
how often thou didst bless my soul, under 
the ministration of Thomas Wills, Row- 
land Hill, William Romaine, John New- 
ton, John Rip p on, Abraham Booth, An- 
drew Fuller, Alexander Waugh, and 
David Bogue : and, after miserably wast- 
ing much of my life, while crossing the 



149 



Atlantic, in coming to this happy coun- 
try, how thou didst assure me, that I 
should sing again, as in the days of 
my youth. O who would not fear and 
love thee. How graciously, didst thou 
restore my soul, soon after I came to 
Auburn, under the ministration of the 
Rev. David Kiggins, and especially, in 
my own room ! But while I have a being, 
I must, and will, bless thee, for the won- 
ders of 1817, when there was a most 
precious revival, wherein I enjoyed more 
of the sweets of the religion of the 
gospel. My repenting appeared to be, 
afresh, enkindled within me. I got down 
lower in the dust, and the Redeemer was 
precious. My youth was renewed like 
the Eagle's ; and 1, indeed, sung again, 
even more than in the days of my youth. 
The glory of God, overwhelmed me, and 
I was delighted to lie very low before 
him— he brought me into his banqueting 
house, and his banner over me was love. 
He appeared to blot out my transgressions 
13* 



150 



as a thick cloud, and gave me a relish for 
his favor, which I have never entirely 
lost. Time would fail me, to mention 
the loving kindness of the Lord, espe- 
cially, under the ministry of my beloved 
D. C. Lansing. I would with pleasure 
mention two sermons of his — one from 
Job, — " I have heard of thee by the hear- 
ing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth 
thee, wherefore 1 abhor myself and 
repent in dust and ashes" — the other 
that I remember, with so much pleasure, 
was from the Psalms, — " The secret of 
the Lord is with them that fear him, and 
he will shew them his covenant." It 
appeared as if the glory of the Lord 
filled the house — he made the place of 
his feet glorious ; and he, and his ways, 
were sweeter than ever to my soul. And 
as I am advanced in age, and am making 
my nearings to eternity, I will say to the 
honor of his name, not one of all the 
good things which the Lord God hath 
promised, hath ever failed ; and now, the 



151 



prospect brightens, that I shall shortly 
be satisfied when I awake in his likeness. 
Thy conduct, blessed Lord, in bringing 
me to this hour of my departure — thy 
kindness, in the manner of my death — 
thy treatment while I have been lying 
here — the taste which thou art allowing 
me of the grapes from the brook Eshcol 
— the pleasing calm of my soul, while 
waiting for thy coming — and the still- 
ness of the enemy — all fill me with holy 
love, and gratitude. Precious Redeem- 
er thou hast kept the best wine to the 
last. 

Kind author and ground of my hope, 

Thee, alone for my God I avow, 
My glad Ebenezer set up, 

And own thou hast help'd me till now, 
I muse on the years that are past, 

Wherein my defence thou hastprov'd, 
Nor wilt thou relinquish at last, 

A sinnei so signally lov'd. 

I feel like one who has finished his jour- 
neyings through the wilderness, and has 
arrived on the very banks of Jordan. I 



152 



admire the hand that, unseen, has kept 
me hitherto, and looking over on the other 
side, I direct a longing eye to the place 
where the divine honor dwelleth. O is it 
I, who am thus favored ? I wonder how 
the blessed God can put me among his 
children ! — Yet I believe — 

These eyes shall see him in that day, 
The God that died for me, 

And all my rising bones shall say 
Lord, who is like to thee. 

Expecting the signal every moment, 
J sometimes look at the clock, and wonder 
if my Lord will come by such an hour — 
sometimes, I think I should be pleased 
to go over on the Sabbath ; but would 
not, on any consideration, desire to go 
sooner, nor otherwise, than as my Father 
pleaseth. 

The world recedes, it disappears ; 
Heaven opens on my eyes, my ear* 

W ith sounds seraphic ring 
Lend, lend your wings, I mount, I fly ; 
O grave, where is thy Victory ! 
O death, where is thy sting ! 



I 



153 



Allow me, O Lord my strength and 
my Redeemer, to walk on the high places 
of the earth, to dwell in heavenly places, 
in Christ Jesus ; and let the words of my 
mouth, and the meditations of my heart, 
be acceptable in thy sight. O it is 
sweet, to live as seeing him who is invisi- 
ble — to have the sentence of death in 
myself, but to be always carrying about 
with me, in the body, the dying of the 
Lord Jesus ! I know in whom I have 
believed, and doubt not, but that I am in 
safe hands for eternity. Jesus, who is 
the resurrection and the life, is my Lord, 
and Redeemer ; and I know that he will 
raise me up at the last day. 

NO. IV. 

On the Writings of Sir Walter 
Scott. 

*• 

In the year 1 826, I was confined to my 
room ; and suffered much from pain, 
owing to the shrinking of one of the 
tendons of my leg. I received much 



154 



kindness from my friends, and acquain- 
tance : and the members of my family 
exerted themselves, for my relief ; and 
tried to alleviate my pain, by diverting 
my mind from my extreme anguish. My 
eldest son, to whom, at that time, the 
world was every thing, offered to read 
to me some of Sir Walter Scott's writings, 
thinking it might interest my feelings. 
Although I had not read much in his 
works, I was satisfied they contained many 
beauties, in the eyes of those that never 
knew a Redeemer's love ; but I had no 
idea that they could afford me any plea- 
sure, in passing through pain, or in the 
prospect of eternity. He continued, 
however, to urge upon me his favourite 
palliative ; and as I had heard much of 
Jenny Deans, I consented to hear him 
read, "the Heart of Midlothian." As 
he proceeded, I gave my attention, and 
did, actually, become interested in it ; 
but when I attempted to pray, I found 
a painful difficulty in getting near to 



155 



God ; and when I had sweet access to 
his rnercv seat, I had no heart for Sir 
Walter. His painting of the goodness 
of the human heart, w T as so different from 
the views, I had of my own — his descrip- 
tion of the benevolence of God, was so 
different from what I had enjoyed, 
through a precious Redeemer, that I 
found, reading his works distressed me 
much. I had endeavored to give up my 
mind to the subject ; and tried to enter 
into, and enjoy its beauties; but still I 
found that the more interested I became 
in it, the less pleasure, I had in going to a 
throne of grace. I did then, and do now. 
believe that the god of Sir Walter, is not 
the God of the Bible ; nor the God, by 
which we shall be judged at the last day. 
But my son continued to read, till my 
disorder assumed a very alarming charac- 
ter ; and it began to look as if I must 
soon leave this world. Viewing death 
as drawing near, I found that I could not 
endure any more of Sir Waller. O 



156 



precious Bible, precious Bible, both for 
living, and for dying men. And now. 
July 10, 1831, I would testify, that I 
think it a poor business to turn from the 
living God, and go over to the Witch 
of Endor, for comfort. 

I am, decidedly, of opinion, that the 
works of Sir Walter Scott, have done 
more injury to the world ; and especially, 
to the youth; than those of any other man, 
that has lived these fifty years. I was in 
London, when Thomas Paine wrote his 
Age of Reason. His previous popularity, 
induced, almost, every one, to read it ; 
and many pious people became alarmed. 
I read it, that I might know where to find 
the enemy ; and how to meet him — and I 
must say that Paine's works never gave 
me the distressing solicitude, at a throne 
of grace, that Sir Walter's have. I 
would rather, at any time, meet an open 
enemy, than a secret one ; and especially, 
if the latter, as in the present case, professes 
a great deal of friendship. Paine came out 



157 



boldly, an open, and declared, enemy ; and 
did, what could be done, lo overthrow the 
Bible. Perhaps, he has slain his thou- 
sands ; but, I verily believe, Sir Walter 
has slain his tens of thousands. His 
works are so mixt up with truth, and 
fiction, that there seems to be no dividing 
line. His fiction is so dressed up, and 
honied over — the baser passions of the 
heart, are so entirely changed, covered 
over, or palliated, that they do not appear 
to be sin, or any breach of God's law ; 
and thus the most holy and righteous God, 
is treated with contempt, to gratify the 
pride of the human heart — But how will 
this look in the light of eternity ! When 
I see a young man, eighteen or twenty 
years of age, before his judgement is 
matured, or his understanding well stored 
with knowledge, with Sir Walter's works 
in his hands — captivated by the specious 
bait, that is laid in his way ; I think, in 
all probability, he is ruined for life. So 
voluminous are his works, and so ensnar- 
14 



153 



ing to the youthful mind, that when one 
volume is finished, the next is grasped 
with increased eagerness — -and he goes 
on year after year, fancying that he is im- 
proving his taste ; while he is, merely, 
gratifying his vain imagination, and cor- 
rupting his heart. Alas! he does not, 
for one moment, think of the destructive 
tendency of what he is doing. But look 
at him, at the age of thirty, — the chief 
part of his life, best adapted to improve- 
ment, is gone ; and if he is honest, he 
will confess, that he has not improved 
himself in any one subject, that will make 
him a better man, or a more useful citizen. 
After a person has lived ten years, on 
dainties, he has no appetite for plain, 
wholesome diet. I lament, exceedingly, 
the injury Sir Walter has done, by 
poisoning the mind of so many young 
persons — they are neither fit for hus- 
bands, or for wives ; and they seem 
prepared for nothing, but rehearsing 
empty tales. Little do young men know, 



159 



the injury they are doing to themselves, 
and their country ; while they are throw- 
ing away that time, which should be 
devoted to useful study, in reading old 
wives' fables ; or what is certainly no 
better. By the time a man is thirty, the 
public expect that he may be of some 
service to his country ; but upon examin- 
ation, it will be found, that if he has been 
captivated with such writings as Sir Wal- 
ter's — that he knows nothing of law, or 
gospel ; of church or state ; of affairs, 
public, or private — the young man has 
destroyed himself, by improper reading ; 
and now, if at all sensible of his situa- 
tion ; and if he desires to be something ; 
he is in a great bustle — looking here and 
there, to get some useful information : 
but it is too late. Not having accustomed 
himself to study, for so long a time, his 
mind has lost all elasticity — all its health- 
ful action is gone ; and it is perfectly idle, 
to think of his rising to eminence. So 
well satisfied am I, of the correctness of 



166 



this position, that I am convinced, that the 
whole world cannot produce one man of 
eminence, as a divine, a lawyer, a phy- 
sician, or a mechanician, who has devoted 
all his leisure hours to works of fiction. 
A man's character may he judged of by 
the manner in which he spends his leisure 
hours— let them be wasted ; and the man 
is lost. " A wise son maketh a glad 
father ; while a son that sleepeth in har- 
vest, causeth shame." Blessed be God 
for the precious Bible. They who hon- 
estly, endeavor to cleanse their ways, 
by taking heed thereunto according to the 
word of God, shall be kept from error ; 
and, although they may not be mathe- 
maticians, or philosophers, yet, they may, 
by maintaining a holy, and humble walk 
with God, glorify their Father who is 
in heaven — enjoy sweet communion with 
him — be essentially useful here — and be 
prepared for heaven. 



161 



no. y. 

On Honesty with God. 

w Light is sown for the righteous, and 
gladness for the upright in heart." In 
order that we may have any comfort with 
God, w r e must have . an honest heart, before 
him ; and of this, no one can be judge, 
so w r ell as the possessor. Men may have 
whereof to glory ; but not before God. 
In a state of nature, men may do many 
things, yea, they may do any thing, exter- 
nally ; and verily, they will have their 
reward. They may pray long, and loud, 
to be heard and seen of men ; and they 
get their reward — they may blow with 
a trumpet, when they give alms, or do 
any other good work ; and they have 
their reward — they may make a great 
show of religion, when fashionable ; 
make great professions of humility, and 
deep repentance, to be esteemed of men ; 
and they get their reward — but in all 

this, there, surely, cannot be any honest 
14* 



162 



simplicity before God : and it would seem, 
that the person must know it : although 
he may be offended, if you suspect his 
sincerity. The Saviour speaks of a sin- 
gleness of eye, of an uprightness of soul, 
of an ingenuous dealing with God, 
wherein, there is no disguise, no half 
heartedness, no double meaning, no cov- 
ering up ; but an open, and an honest 
simplicity, before God. Now, I think, 
that here is the dividing line, between him 
that is a Christian, and him that is not. 
Some struggle, and fret, until they fancy 
they see, something favorable in God, 
or in themselves ; and embrace a hope, 
that cannot easily be shaken. The grand 
thing is wanting; they never were brought, 
in honesty of soul, to submit to God ; 
neither have they any simplicity of heart 
before Him ; nor any genuine communion 
with him. The Saviour says, that if 
any man will do his will, he shall know 
of the doctrine : and, no doubt, Paul had 
a sincere desire to do his will, when 



163 



he said, "Lord what wilt thou have me 
to do" — As soon as he was taught, he 
went, honestly, to work — He conferred 
not with flesh and blood — He went to 
God — " behold he prayeth." He submit- 
ted all, into his hands, for time and 
eternity, without equivocation, or reserva- 
tion. He felt himself so entirely undone, 
that he would, as soon have thought of 
making a world, as of going to God, 
in his own name. But he went, in the 
name of Jesus, and found peace to his 
soul. 

There is no way, to get comfort from 
any promise, or doctrine, without true 
sincerity of soul, in its application ; — but 
in a hope, thus honestly obtained, there 
is much pleasure that a stranger intermed- 
dles not with. While we are engaged in 
the concerns of this world, we are not 
apt to see the supreme selfishness of our 
hearts. We spend our time, in providing 
for our families ; and say, in our wisdom, 
we do not intend to be as the infidel, 



164 



who provides not for his own house ; 
while our eyes are closed to things of 
eternal moment — We go about, self seek- 
ing, in self dependence, with self-suffi- 
ciency of spirit, and glorying in self. 
There is a great deal of sacrificing to 
our own drag. Such is the deceitfulness of 
the heart, that, if w r e w r ish to live as 
Christians, we must be in continual war- 
fare ; and must contend with sin, in 
every shape. Often, in different parts 
of my journey, have I been brought to 
exclaim, u O that I had hearkened to 
thy commandments ; then had my peace 
been a3 a river ; and my righteousness, 
as the waves of the sea." 

Honesty with God, is the only safe 
policy, for man. A near view of God, 
a clear perception of his holiness, with 
a sweet fiducial confidence in him, are 
as foretastes of heaven to the soul, that 
is seeking to be transformed into his 
image. When I can turn away from 
the w T orld, from self, and from sin ; and 



165 



can say, " O Lord thou art my God, — 
whom have I in heaven but thee — thou 
art my fortress, my high tower, and my 
resting place" — I feel, that he is my 
father — I bless, and adore, him ; and 
long to be where, without sin, I may 
serve him forever. But a single suspicion, 
that I indulge sin in my heart, mars all 
m y j°y j ana " I cannot do other, than 
come to him with weeping, and supplica- 
tion. Peter, under a full recollection of 
his sin, could, in a short time after his 
fall, say, " Lord thou knowest all things ; 
thou knowest that I love thee." He was 
conscious, that he did not regard iniquity 
in his heart. He knew, that his repen- 
tance was sincere. When he confessed 
his sin, he forsook it. Enoch's happiness, 
must have been of the highest order ; 
when he had this testimony, " that he 
pleased God." It is the sweetest enjoy- 
ment, on this side of eternity, to feel a 
consciousness, that our hearts, are right 



166 



with God ; and to know, that what we 
do, we do as unto the Lord. It is of 
grace, that we ever have a desire to please 
him ; and the more, we have of this 
spirit, the more, we shall approximate to 
his likeness, which, when perfected, must 
be glory indeed. 

I made a profession of religion, for 
many years, before I began to visit the 
sick ; or to give alms, to the poor, as 
doing these things unto the Lord. I gave, 
because others did ; or from natural 
sympathy ; or with a view* to pacify my 
conscience. O, I have been slow to 
learn, what was of so much importance 
to my own peace ; or w r hat might be, 
truly, useful to others. When partaking, 
of the Lord's supper, it is sweet to do it, 
as he bids us, in remembrance of him. 
Paul, always, carried about in the body, 
the dying of the Lord Jesus. We. may 
have, what form ; or maintain, what 
doctrines ; or join, what church ; we 



167 



please ; Yet, without holiness, no man 
shall see the Lord. I take it for granted, 
that while we discover any thing in God, 
that we wish were otherwise, we have 
no true love to him. I think, that when 
we view his perfections, especially, his 
sweet holiness, and his entire sover- 
eignty, we shall, voluntarily, get down 
at his feet ; and submit ourselves, cheer- 
fully, to him, for both worlds. He is then, 
where, of right, he ought to be ; and we, 
take the place of those who love him ; 
and where we may hope, for his blessing. 
He will be all, or nothing; and a soul 
that lies at his feet, would not, for a 
moment, think of making reserves ; nor 
of dividing the heart with God. It is 
true, that, at first, we only see men, as 
trees, walking : but if the heart be honest, 
with God, we shall go on, to know the 
Lord. When we are brought near, to 
where we ought to be, our Father is 
pleased to indulge us with delightful 



168 



fellowship — with sweet communion, and, 
sometimes, with an humble, and tender, 
freedom, at his throne — yea, with an 
extatic joy in God, which the world can 
neither give, nor take away. All that is 
wanted, to have this, constantly, is to 
have an honest heart before the Lord. 
Jesus is the same yesterday, to day, and 
forever. We are the beings who change; 
we, let down our watch, and lose our 
uprightness before him ; and thus lose the 
sense of his favor which is life. O, his 
loving kindnes is better than life — He 
sends forth, the spirit of his son, into 
our hearts, and we cry, "Abba, Father." 
This is the sweetest feeling in the world. 
A son goes to his Father, with reverence, 
it is true ; but with a pleasant confidence. 
He does not even suspect that he does 
not love his father ; and although the 
father, in his wisdom, may delay, or deny 
to answer his son ; yet, his heart yearns 
over him, and he will act towards him, 



169 



as he thinks best for his interest. True 
honesty of soul before the Lord, would 
make us act towards him, as dutiful 
and affectionate children — would secure 
his favour — and would make our condu 
tion here, to resemble that of the saints 
in heaven. 



16 



APPENDIX, 



A. 

Mr. Conrad Ten Eyck, of whom Mr* 
Oliphant speaks, page 68, was his pecu- 
liar friend ; and a fellow member of the 
Session of the first Presbyterian Church 
of Auburn, for a number of years. They 
were, indeed, kindred spirits ; and, almost, 
daily companions, in devising, and in do- 
ing good. Often, did they meet together* 
to pray for the prosperity of the cause of 
their common Lord ; and for the increase, 
and purity, of the church, to which they 
belonged. These men did not expend 
their religious feelings, in speaking of 
what might, or ought to be done ; or in 
expressing desires that proved no motives 
to exertion — while they prayed, they, 
unitedly, laboured to do what they could 



1T2 



to improve the condition of their neigh- 
bours. They felt kindly disposed towards 
all ; and did good to all, as they had op- 
portunity. The needy of all descriptions, 
claimed their attention. On all proper 
occasions, they, affectionately, warned and 
counselled those, that in their view, had 
no interest in the atoning blood of the 
Son of God ; and relieved the temporal 
wants, of the needy among them, as they 
found means to do it — But while they 
overlooked none, the members of the 
household of faith, in a special manner, 
called forth their sympathies, and kind 
offices. Frequently, did they visit, in 
company, the abodes of the professors of 
religion,belonging to their church — inquir- 
ed, in a prudent, and inoffensive, way, into 
their temporal, and spiritual, necessities — 
and exerted their influence to promote 
their comfort, or their purity, as circum- 
stances seemed to require. They were 
not idle, in the work, which belonged to 
them, as officers in the church ; and thei r 



173 



memory will be respected, by many, for 
their acts of piety, and benevolence. Mr. 
Ten Eyck died Nov. 6, 1826, and on the 
8th, of the same month, his funeral was 
attended, by a large number of the inhab- 
itants of the village. 

The following, is an extract from the 
funeral address, by the Reverend Doctor 
Lansing, who was pastor of the First 
Presbyterian Church of Auburn, at the 
time of Mr. Ten Eyck's death. 

"Our deceased brother, was a pattern 
to us, as it regarded the intercourse of 
social life. You found him in no gay, 
and frolicsome parties, where the enemies 
of Jesus and his friends, mingled in mirth, 
and merriment — He loved the social cir- 
cle, where prayer, and religious conversa- 
tion, could be, freely, indulged — He loved 
to seek out the poor of the flock of Christ, 
and to administer to their necessities — His 
friendships were sincere, and ardent — He 
felt for the church, and, ardently, prayed 

for its peace and advancement. One day, 
15* 



174 



in the month of August last, he visited ray 
house, and his soul was overwhelmed, in 
view of the state of religion among us ; 
and, when we were alone, he gave vent to 
the feelings of his full heart — he fell into 
my arms— he hung upon my neck — and 
he wept like a child— Most deeply, did he 
feel for the church ; and most fervently, 
did he pray for its prosperity. 

His views, and feelings, in a dying hour, 
were in accordance with the faith, which 
he professed in life. Possessor of a mind, 
of more than ordinary strength, and clear- 
ness of perception, he took a larger 
view, than is common, of the great doc- 
trines of grace ; and the habit of his 
thoughts, and feelings, had become so 
settled on these, that the distress, and con- 
sciousness, of his dying hour, did not 
shake, for a moment, the confidence of his 
soul. When I asked him, whether he could 
say with David," the Lord reigneth, let 
the earth rejoice ?" He replied, " O yes, 
I rejoice in God ; and commit my soul to 



175 



him, for time, and eternity." When near 
the close of life, he endeavoured to regu- 
late the feelings of his afflicted wife, by 
saying, "God will do right." Having his 
attention directed, by one, who was near 
him, to Jesus, as the resurrection, and the 
life — he lifted up his eyes, with a most 
expressive look ; and solemnly, and dis- 
tinctly, said, "He is the way, the truth, 
and the life." 

God has come near to those of us, my 
brethren, who compose the Session of I his 
church. Why is it, that he has^taken one of 
the most active, and faithful, of our num- 
ber ? Should not each individual of us, 
inquire whether we have, in all respects, 
done our duty, as the spiritual overseers 
of this flock of Christ ?" 

B. 

Mr. Oliphant, often, mentioned with 
much feeling, the manner, in which he 
first got acquainted with Mr. William 
Frazer, of Wheatland, of whom he so 



176 



affectionately speaks, page 134 ; and the 
sincere friendship, which he, afterwards, 
had for him. In the fall of 1825, or '6, 
Mr. Oliphant, with his wife, set out to visit 
an old friend, of the name of Frazer, who 
lived in the western part, of the state of 
New-York. When he arrived, near the 
place, where, he supposed his friend lived, 
he inquired for his house ; and followed 
the .direction that was given him. When 
he arrived at the house, to which he had 
been directed, he found that it was occu- 
pied by the family, of a Mr. Frazer ; but 
not of his friend. As it was growing dark, 
and beginfffng to rain, he felt that it would 
be, extremely, inconvenient to pursue his 
journey. was disappointed, and for a 
moment, in jdoubt, what he should do ; but 
the kind invitation, of the strangers, to con- 
tinue with them, through the night, led 
him to conclude, that he would accept of 
their invitation. Supper was soon pre- 
pared, and Mr. and Mrs. Oliphant sat 
down to partake of it. Mr. Oliphant, 



ITT 



asked a blessing — this was observed, with 
great interest, by his host ; who was led 
from this circumstance, to speak on soma 
religious subject, and was encouraged, by 
the remarks of Mr. Oliphant. In a few 
minutes, Mr. Oliphant, and Mr. Frazer, 
felt no longer, as strangers ; and the even- 
ing passed, in the most cheerful, and un- 
reserved, christian conversation. When 
the hour of worship arrived, the family 
was assembled ; and the order, and decen- 
cy, in which every thing was done, de- 
lighted Mr. Oliphant. Worship was com- 
menced with singing. Mr. Frazer, then 
took the Bible, in his hands ; and intreated 
the Lord to accompany the reading of 
his word, with his blessing — |je then read 
a chapter — after this, he asked, each of his 
children, to repeat what was recollected 
of the chapter, which had been read — 
they obeyed ; one, repeating one part ; 
and another, another, — From the portion, 
which each child repeated, was he ad- 
dressed, in a practical way, by the father 



178 



— these parts of the family service being 
ended, Mr. Oliphant was asked, to lead 
in prayer. As usual, he addressed the 
throne of grace, with much feeling, free- 
dom, and pertinency. The hearts of Mr. 
Oliphant, and Mr. Frazer became, as one, 
and from this evening the most intimate 
and sincere, friendship existed between 
these christian brothers. After this, Mr. 
Oliphant, frequently, visited Mr. Frazer ; 
and during his last sickness, when he felt 
that death was near, he wrote to him, 
giving an account of his views, and feel- 
ings, in the prospect of entering the eter- 
nal world. No answer to this letter did 
he ever receive, but while he lived, he of- 
ten spoke, most tenderly, of his friend, 
William Frazer, of Wheatland. 

C. 

Mr- Oliphant, being himself, a man of 
active piety, he took a peculiar pleasure 
in those who were publicly engaged in 
doing good. Of this description, was Mr. 



179 



Josiah Bisseil. He was, as Mr. Oliphant 
called him — a "working christian." In 
all the religious enterprises of the day, he 
was distinguished. Having expanded 
views of the work which christians are, 
in the present age, called to perform, he 
devised, and undertook great things.— 
His own benevolent spirit, may hate led 
him, at times, to overrate the pious feel- 
ings of those around him, or their wil- 
lingness to co-operate in his noble un- 
dertakings. From this he experienced 
embarrassment — but he was never dis- 
couraged. In the midst of a plan to in- 
crease his means of doing good, the Lord 
saw fit, in his wise and righteous provi- 
dence, to bring all his labours, in this 
world, to a close. For some time, his 
health had been declining, but he was now, 
suddenly, seized with bleeding at the 
lungs, which soon ended his active life. 
Although this attack was violent, he did 
not apprehend immediate death. Being 
engaged in a work, which he supposed 



180 



was, intimately, connected with the hon- 
or of religion, he did not at first, think 
that the Lord would remove him, be- 
fore it was finished — But when he dis- 
covered, that it was the will of God, that 
he should cease from his labours, and give 
an account of his stewardship, he cheer- 
fully submitted — to those around him, 
he gave the strongest evidences of genu- 
ine piety — and left the world, in the 
sweetest assurance of entering into the joy 
of his Lord. 

D. 

Laura Lansing, was the wife of the 
Rev. D. C. Lansing, D. D. Pastor of 
the Second Presbyterian Church of Utica. 
She died March, 6, 1831. Her trium- 
phant death, to which Mr. Oliphant al- 
ludes, page,146, was detailed to him, in a 
letter from Doctor Lansing, dated March 
11, 1831, from which the following ex- 
tract is, here given, "Such a death I nc\ = 
er saw. I have seen, and heard of extacy 



181 

and it has almost always awakened a fear, 
that there may have been some exciting 
cause, other than clear, and consistent, 
views of God, and his glory ; but in the 
death of my dear wife, there was a calm, 
solemn, and placid feeling — an unruffled 
emotion of love, and confidence— a holy, 
deliberate, resting of soul on Jesus Christ, 
which made all, who looked upon, her, 
afraid. There was an angelic, and hea- 
venly mildness, and softness of expression, 
in her countenance ; blended with a holy 
solemnity, and a soul sustaining faith, that 
produced emotions, in those who beheld 
her, that can be felt, but cannot be de- 
scribed. She seemed to me, in the 
strength of Jesus, to close in upon the 
king of terrors, for the last struggle, with 
such calm deliberate confidence, that we 
saw, what, under the circumstances, we 
expected, the cruel tyrant, prostrate, and 
silent, at her feet. She repeated with 
great solemnity and composure, the fol- 
lowing stanza : 

16 



182 



Jesus can make a dying bed 

Feel soft as downy pillows are, 
While on his breast I lean my head, 
And breathe my life out sweetly there. 
She prayed for every thing, and every 
body. Expressed no concern for hus- 
band, or children ; but said she could, 
without the shadow of fear, commit both 
to th^ hands of Josus Christ. 

O, how I was filled with astonishment, 
and comfort ! How wonderful to see a 
trembling woman, through the power of 
faith, lay the monster low. She spoke 
much of Jesus as the rock of her salva- 
tion. She repeated more than twenty 
times — " He is my rock." At the close of 
my last prayer with her, I began to repeat 
the words of Hotham — After I repeated 
the first line — 

Jesus lover of my soul — 
She instantly repeated the second, 
Let me to thy bosom fly — 
and stopped, and looked at me, as if she 
was waiting to have me repeat the third* 



183 



which I did — when she followed with the 
fourth. I took the fifth, and she feeling 
the appropriateness of the remaining three, 
to her own case, repeated them in suc- 
cession. This scene was followed with 
expressions of confidence in Jesus, at once 
overwhelming, and melting to the soul." 



FUNERAL SERMON. 



I 



FUNERAL SERMON. 



Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death 
of his saints. — Psalm cxvi. 15. 

Death is at all times, and in whatever 
light it may be viewed, a subject that 
affords solemn and interesting reflections. 
Were we not called to witness the effects 
of its triumphs so frequently (the very rea- 
son why it should most deeply affect us,) 
it is scarcely possible to conceive of the 
feelings that it would produce in our 
minds. Were the instance that has called 
us together to day the first that had ever 
fallen under our observation, how full of 
interest would be the train of reflections, it 
would naturally excite. Still, if we un- 
dertake to discover wherein it is less 
solemn, or Jess interesting, on account of 



188 



the frequency of its occurence, we shall 
find it a question not the most easy to 
solve. The reflections, occasioned by 
instances of death, are usually affecting 
and impressive in proportion to the near- 
ness of its approach, and the tenderness 
of the ties which it severs. There is 
scarcely an office to which we are called 
in life, that throws a deeper gloom over 
every thing earthly, than to convey the 
remains of our friends or relatives to the 
grave. 

We are called this afternoon, in the 
providence of God, to perform this duty 
to one who not only sustained these tender 
and affecting relations, but who has long 
sustained an important office in the church, 
and to whose labors and prayers, it will 
doubtless be found to have been greatly 
indebted. 

When we watch the progress of disease 
upon a dying friend, till his strength is 
overcome and his soul takes its departure, 
we seem to have followed him to the very 



18$ 



door of the spiritual world. And while 
we gaze upon his lifeless remains, we 
cannot rid ourselves of the impression, 
that the active and immortal spirit, that 
had made this clay its habitation, has but 
just passed from our company and our 
sight. From this point it is not the work 
of a moment to retrace our steps, and 
regain, in our feelings, our former distance 
from the coming world. There is some- 
thing kind, and yet awfully impressive, in 
the influence we may derive from provi- 
dences like these. It is as though we 
were taken by the hand, and conducted 
thus near to the door of the eternal world, 
to give us the fairest opportunity to test 
our confidence in God, and our willingness 
to obey him when he shall summon us to 
appear before his bar. Here, upon this 
high, this " vantage ground," let us view 
ourselves as standing this afternoon. To 
do this we shall be the better able, as our 
deceased brother, and friend,while viewing 
himself, (as it is known that he has for the 



190 



year past.) as standing at the door of 
death, has prepared, with his own hand, 
some reflections for this occasion. — 
While he has been waiting for the com- 
ing of his Lord, he has, at the request 
of his friends, given his own views of 
his past life, his recent experience, 
together with his views of death and 
the future world ; and he has expressed 
a desire, that on this occasion, they 
might be read in their hearing.* Of 
the reasonableness of gratifying that 
desire, no individual that knew him, 
or shall hear his reflections, it is 
believed, can have a doubt. As our 
friend can address us personally no more 
in this world, let the remarks he has pre- 
pared for us, on this occasion, be heard as 
coming from that world to which he has 
gone. My own remarks on this occasion 
vou will perceive must be very brief. 

* Parts of what he had written, and of what is 
contained in the foregoing pages, selected by him- 
self, were read by a member of the session, 
immediately after the delivery of this discourse. 



191 



H Precious in the sight of the Lord is 
the death' of his saints.' 9 — To adopt the 
sentiment contained in these words to this 
occasion, I shall attempt to show briefly, 

I. That death, when viewed in itself, 
is gloomy and appalling. 

II. In a few remarks, I shall show 
why it is, that the death of the saints is 
precious in the sight of the Lord. 

Death affords gloomy reflections, on 
account of the pains with which it is 
usually attended. Although the body is 
the mere habitation of the mind, while in 
its present state, such is the connexion 
between them, that they cannot be taken 
sunder, in most cases, without anguish or 
pangs that are unutterable. It is this, 
together with its effects or consequences, 
that render it the " king of terrors." 

It affords in itself gloomy reflections, 
because it puts an end to all the enjoy- 
ments of the present life. All that plea- 
sure that is derived from the gratification 
of the bodily appetites and propensities — 
all that is derived from contemplating in 



192 



visionary prospects, success in accumula- 
ting wealth— and all that is the effect of 
worldly honor, or momentary applause, is 
terminated forever when death arrives. 
There is no rendezvous for pleasure — 
there is no opportunity to gratify ambition, 
by promoting a private interest in that 
world to which it will conduct us. 

Death affords solemn reflections, because 
it is unavoidable. Whatever may be our 
age, or circumstances, or character, the 
sentence of God is irrevocable, " From 
dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou 
return." Other evils it is possible to 
evade, but in this case the decree has gone 
forth, and " there is no discharge in that 
war." However fearful or overwhelming 
will be the sound of his footsteps, when 
death comes to remove you to the presence 
of your Judge, he is not to be put off for 
a moment. 

Death has no respect to circumstances 
or persons. There are none too young or 
delicate — there are none too pious or useful 
to fall beneath his rude and unfeeling 



193 



hand. If you stand at the head of a nu- 
merous and dependent family, or if you 
are an only child, and the hopes and ex- 
pectations of fond and aged parents rest 
upon you, or if the publick eye has marked 
you for some high and useful station — 
ready or reluctant — prepared or unpre- 
pared — when death shall call, you must 
obey. 

The time of his coming is uncertain. 
As he is not to be evaded, so he may 
come when he is least expected. There 
are no circumstances in life, in w hich it is 
possible to calculate, with any certainty on 
the time of his coming. If we are was- 
ting away by degrees under the influence 
of a consumption, or any other disease 
that is commissioned to remove us, it must 
remain entirely uncertain, till the moment 
arrives, when it shall accomplish its work. 
Now in this uncertainty there is some- 
thing, especially to such as have their 
hearts and expectations upon the interests 
of this world, gloomy and painful, beyond 
17 



194 



what language can ever describe. That 
we should be subject to a change as pain- 
ful to endure, and as deeply affecting our 
immortal interests beyond the grave, as 
this, and not be able to form the least 
suspicion concerning the time, is a fact that 
so deeply and painfully affects the mind, 
as that it can never be reconciled to the 
character of a kind and merciful Creator, 
except by believing the doctrine of a future 
and endless existence. In that case, the 
great design of our being is so much affec- 
ted by our conduct in the present life, that 
this uncertainty becomes a powerful in- 
ducement not to neglect, for one moment, 
what God has revealed to be our duty. 
By this uncertainty, he proclaims in a 
manner most solemn and impressive the 
danger of neglecting to make our peace 
with him. Wherever we go, and howev- 
er animating our prospects with regard to 
the present world may be, without a 
moment's warning, we may find ourselves 
in the world of spirits, with the scenes of 
the Judgment before us. 



195 



Death closes, at his coming, all oppor- 
tunity to secure the immortal happiness 
of the soul. It is appointed unto men 
once to die, but after that the judgment. 
The present life bears every mark of a 
state of trial. Its uncertainty and its va- 
rious evils, together with the crimes that 
we too often witness, show that the right- 
eous and the wicked are to remain together 
to be separated, only, at the great and 
decisive day, The field is the world, 
and the end of it is the harvest. The 
decision of the Bible is, that we are to be 
judged " according to the deeds done in 
the body." On the improvement we 
make of the present life, hangs the endless 
destiny of our souls — But — 

II. The death of the righteous is pre- 
cious in the sight of the Lord — 

Because there is a glorious conquest 
of truth and holiness over sin, then, com- 
pleted. The cause of holiness is the 
cause of God. The great work in which 
he is engaged, is to overcome, by the instru- 
mentality of truth, the influence of sin, and 



196 



bring the soul into perfect obedience to 
his commands. While in the present life, 
in the heart of the christian, this work is 
progressive — he is sanctified by degrees. 
There is a continued contest between the 
powers of darkness, and of light, for the 
highest seat in his affections. The *flesh 
lusteth against the spirit, and. the spirit 
against the flesh, but at death the contest 
will be at an end. There is no reflection 
that throws on the mind of the christian 
a heavier, and more unaffected grief, than 
that he i3 liable to wander, and does often 
so wander from the path of duty, as to 
bring dishonor upon the precious name of 
Jesus Christ. On this account, he often 
contemplates the period himself, when he 
shall be placed beyond the reach of temp- 
tation, with feelings of high exultation 
and delight. He often cries out with an 
Apostle, O wretched man that I am, who 
shall deliver me from the body of this 
death ? and he counts it a great deliver- 
ance if his faith enables him again to 
say, " I thank God through our Lord Je- 



197 



sus Christ." The alternate triumphs and 
defeats ; the consequent joys and sorrows 
of the christian's course, can only be 
known by experience. 

"The wavesTof trouble, how they roll; 

How loud the tempest roars : 
But death shall land each weary soul 

Safe on the heavenly shores/' 

The death of the righteous, therefore is 
precious in the sight of God, because it is 
the end of all their sorrows. God loves 
his people with a love that is stronger 
than death. They are dear to him as the 
apple of his eye. Possessing as they do, 
remaining unholy affections, they are 
subject to many of the trials and afflictions 
of other men, while their prevailing love 
for holiness, and the cause of God, often 
occasions sorrows and trials to which 
others are total strangers. He often lays 
upon them the severest trials, because he 
would wean them from the world. He is 
not insensible to their pain. "He does 
not afflict willingly, nor grieve the chil- 
17* 



198 



dren of men." But all these trials, of 
every kind, will terminate when death 
appears. Weeping may endure for the 
night, but joy cometh in the morning. 
11 His own soft hand shall wipe the tears 

From every weeping eye: 
And pains, and groans, and griefs, and fears, 
And death itself shall die." 

The Lord delights in the death of the 
righteous because it is the gate which ad- 
mits them to behold the beauty, and enjoy 
the bliss, of the heavenly world. Such are 
the preparations he has made to give them 
rest from the agitations and rebellion of 
this ruined world, and to place them where 
he may unfold to their astonished and 
captivated minds, forever, the mysteries of 
his character and providence ; and the sep- 
aration of soul and body is an event so pain- 
ful, that he is pleased when the last pang 
has ceased, and they have arrived at their 
eternal home. It has not entered into the 
heart of man to conceive the joys that are 
prepared for them that love him. How 
unfit for enjoyments like these, will they 



199 



continue to be, so long as they inhabit these 
corrupt and frail bodies ! How great must 
be that deliverence — how glorious that 
transition — when their immortal minds are 
taken from these scenes of trial and tempta- 
tion, and they find themselves in the pres- 
ence of God and the Lamb, w r here themes 
of increasing interest and glory, shall 
inspire new songs of love and praise, while 
everlasting ages roll away ? Here, it is 
often a severe struggle with the righteous 
to overcome the varied and numberless 
temptations with which they are beset ; 
but there, this vile body will no more 
ensnare them, and their perfect and capa- 
cious spirits, filled with the fulness of God, 
shall have discoveries and joys beyond 
what an angel could describe. The more 
they see of the beauty and equity of the 
law — and of the support and honor it 
receives from the blood of Christ, the more 
they will catch the spirit, and enter into 
the views, of that song that " more than 
filled heaven," and rolled down upon the 
earth at the birth of Christ — Glory to God 



200 



in the highest, on earth peace and good 
will toward men. 

The death of the Saint is precious in the 
sight of God, because it is a glorious dis- 
play of the conquests of his Son. By his 
own resurrection from the dead, he has 
inspired his followers with the hope of a 
blessed immortality to come, which is as 
an anchor to the soul. He has burst the 
bands of death, and broken the doors of 
his prison. By his spirit and his presence 
he often gives to his people a faith, by 
which they overcome all their fears of 
death and hell. It was this that enabled 
Paul to state," as he did to his brethren at 
Philippi, " I am in a strait betwixt two, 
having a desire to depart and be with 
Christ, which is far better." Paul was 
not alone in the exercise of that faith that 
triumphed over death, and all the enemies 
of the soul. Thousands and thousands have 
been supported by it to a Martyr's stake, 
and have rejoiced and sung praises to God 
in the midst of the flames. Now this trust 
and confidence in God, hy his people, in 



201 



these circumstances, is on many accounts 
an honor to his cause on earth, and this 
cause is dear to him as it is the price of 
the Saviour's blood. He will sooner divide 
the sea and stop the sun in his course, than 
suffer it to be destroyed. In what cir- 
cumstances can christians be placed 
where their testimony can be as important 
to the cause of Christ, as at that period, 
which more than any other in this world, 
" tries men's souls ?" To see them hum- 
ble and yet calm and confident, when the 
scenes of death and the darkness of the 
grave are distinctly before them, what can 
do more to inspirit his friends and fill his 
enemies with terror? If they are ever 
candid or honest — if they are ever stripped 
of pride and all dependence upon them- 
selves, it is at that hour. That men, when 
every other support is taken from them, 
will reach with apparent earnestness for 
the hopes and supports of the gospel, is to 
be expected. So numerous are the cases 
in which such men who have been spared, 
after they feared that the fatal hour had 



202 



come, and have returned to their former 
course.and shown that their fears and their 
passions onlv had been excited, that the 
cause Gcq from their testimony derives 
but litue advantage. 

It is such as have given a cheerful and 
willing service when in health, whose 
lives are " a living epistle read of all men," 
whose confidence, at that hour, is an honor 
to the cause of God. What honor is it to 
the cause of Christ, if a man's faith, and 
submission, and hope of heaven, is first 
announced in his funeral sermon ? But if 
a man has given himself in an everlasting 
covenant to God, when not affected by 
the fear of death, and has derived his sup- 
port and happiness from his service, it is 
an honor to his cause if, when he arrives 
at Jordan's boisterous stream, he can gird 
up his loins, and with cheerfulness and 
confidence venture in. God delights to 
have his people confide in him, in the 
darkest and most trying scenes that the 
appearance of death can ever create. 



203 



IMPROVEMENT. 

1 . Our subject presents a powerful evi- 
dence of the truth of the gospel. 

Death, it will not be denied is one of 
the most fearful and appalling evils that 
men are called to endure. As a general 
principle, they will face any other in order 
to escape from this. But the gospel of 
Jesus Christ shows us,how,that death may 
be seen to exhibit the wisdom and mercy of 
God. If we look at the circumstances of 
the christian, we cannot conceive of a 
greater kindness than that which God 
bestows upon him, by the hand of death. 
It is the kind messenger that is sent to 
release his weary and burdened spirit, 
and admit him to those peaceful and holy 
mansions, that he has held in the eye of 
faith, and for which he has had the most 
ardent and increasing aspirations. There 
is no wonder that Paul, who knew that be- 
lievers have a house not made with hands 
eternal in the heavens, and who, while in 
the flesh, earnestly desired to be clothed 



204 



upon with that house which is from hea- 
ven, considers death as forming a part of 
that rich inheritance that is bequeathed to 
the children of God. " Whether life or 
death, or things present, or things to come, 
all are yours." But if the gospel be re- 
jected, and the views it gives of the char- 
acter and designs of God in the creation 
of the world, how can death be reconciled 
with the character or government of a 
merciful or just being ? It is so undeniably 
regardless of character, and every thing 
that men hold dear, if we look only at the 
present life, it is impossible to conceive 
how God can be a just and holy being. 
Either the moral character of God must be 
given up, or we must believe the doctrines 
of a future existence as supported by the 
gospel. 

2. If the death of the righteous is precious 
in the sight of the Lord — then there is a 
difference between things when viewed in 
themselves, and when viewed in connec- 
tion with other things. In the death of 
thft christian there is n>thing which in 



205 



itself Considered is pleasing in the sight of 
God. But when it is viewed in connec- 
tion with the benefits the saint derives 
from it — his release from the sufferings 
and trials of the present life — his admis- 
sion to the joys of the upper world, and the 
displays of wisdom and mercy which will 
be made in his eternal redemption, there is 
much in it with which he is pleased. On 
this principle we may doubtless see why 
it is that so much is allowed to exist in the 
present world that is opposed to every 
feeling in the mind of God. " He does 
not afflict willingly nor grieve the children 
of men," and yet " afflictions do not spring 
from the dust, nor troubles rise by 
chance." David had a strong assurance 
that in the afflictions he experienced, he 
saw the faithfulness and compassion of a 
tender Father. " J know, O Lord, that 
thy judgments are right, and that thou in 
faithfulness hast afflicted me." There is 
something peculiarly delightful, and kindly 

adapted to sustain the mind under all the 
18 



206 



trials of life, in this view of the providence 
of God. In those things which in them- 
selves are most painful, and which do most 
toward destroying the enjoyment that is 
derived from the present world, the God of 
providence is seen in an attitude of greater 
tenderness and mercy, than in any other 
event. As the loyal and affectionate child, 
who surveys the period of his childhood, af- 
ter he has arrived at the years of maturity 
and discretion, and examines the influence 
of a father's care and training in forming 
his principles and habits, can see more 
kindness, and greater evidence of paternal 
affection, in the corrections that healed his 
waywardness, when gentler means had 
failed, and which were never inflicted 
upon him, without producing a throb of 
anguish in a father's heart, than in all the 
caresses and presents he received from a 
father's hand ; so the child of God, when 
he remembers, that " whosoever his father 
loves he chastens," and the object for 
which he chastens, he sees in all the 



207 



disappointments, pams and trials of his 
past life the strongest indications that he 
can gather from the whole of a kind and 
righteous providence, that he is an object 
of a father's love. 

3. What a difference between the death 
of the righteous and of the wicked ! 
With the wicked, it is the termination of 
all their pleasures, and all their joys. It 
is a fact of which themselves are con- 
scious, that their enjoyment in this world, 
is derived from the gratification of their 
bodily appetites, and in view of their 
earthly interests. For such enjoyments 
there cannot be in the future world the 
least opportunity. The body will be laid 
in the dust, and there will be no opportu- 
nity to gratify a vain ambition, by amass- 
ing wealth or promoting a private interest. 
With them, death will put an end to all 
enjoyment, either in possession or in 
prospect. While with the righteous, it is 
the close of all their trials and sorrows, 
and the commencement of pure and holy 
joys, of which, while in the present world 



208 



they had but a feeble aad imperfect con* 
ception. When they leave the body, they 
leave that by which they have been more 
often, and more powerfully beset with 
temptations than by any thing else. They 
go to enjoy the unmolested contemplation 
of objects, a feeble glimpse of which has 
given them the highest and purest enjoy- 
ment they have ever tasted in the present 
world. — With the wicked, the most im- 
portant period of their eternal existence, 
that on w hich their immortal interests most 
depend, at death will have passed away, 
never to return. For the very reason that 
the present is a state of trial, there cannot 
be any other. When this is wasted away, 
the only opportunity to secure the favour 
of God, and the provisions that infinite 
wisdom and mercy have made for the im- 
mortal spirit, will have closed for ever. 
The wicked is driven away in his wicked- 
ness, but the righteous hath hope in his 
death. With what reluctance and horror, 
men, whose affections are upon the inter- 
ests of the present world, are driven away 



209 



when some irresistible disease is commis- 
sioned to remove them ? It is not strange 
that wicked men, who have been instruct- 
ed, and whose views upon this subject are 
correct, like Balaam, universally desire to 
die the death of the righteous, and to have 
their last end like his. Most men have a 
conviction whether they have chosen God 
for their portion, or the world, and there 
are no circumstances when the effects of 
this choice are more apparent than at the 
hour of death. The attempt has been 
often made, to contrast the death of the 
righteous with that of the wicked — to 
show the peace, tranquility and support in 
their case, in consequence of their confi- 
dence in God, and the brightness of their 
future prospects, when compared with the 
unutterable regret, the chilling, the hope- 
exterminating impression, that all that is 
sweet and pleasant to the soul is left be- 
hind, in the case of the wicked. But after 
all these descriptions, there is upon every 
honest mind impressions created by the 
word of God, the only telescope we have 



210 



for the future world, more appalling than 
human language can ever exhibit. On 
ihe death of the righteous, a God of infi- 
nite mercy and kindness can look with 
pleasure and satisfaction ; but on the 
death of the wicked, as he has rejected the 
counsels and the compassion of God — as 
he utterly refused the only method of es- 
cape from the demands of Justice, that 
God could devise — as he goes to reap the 
wages of sin in a state of unutterable 
retribution, there is no being, except it be 
the prince of darkness, that has a feeling 
of pleasure or gratification, w hen he is 
removed. 

4. How little occasion have we for 
mourning, when our friends who have 
left us, have died in the triumph of faith ? 
Shall we grieve at that upon which God 
looks with feelings of pleasure and satis- 
faction ? Shall we mourn when we have 
reason to believe, that through rich and 
effectual grace, our friends have turned the 
scale for ever in their own favour — have 
passed the only point, where, through the 



211 



iternity of their being, they were exposed 
to the arrest of Justice and her prison of 
despair, and are already tuning their 
golden harps for the everlasting song? 
Can we request them to lay down their 
harps and return to these scenes of dis- 
appoinment, ingratitude and rebellion ? 
Can we, to gratify a set of feelings created 
and nourished too much by a want of 
confidence in God, regret that they have 
gone to dwell with him, whose presence 
lighted up their animating'and supporting 
hopes, and kindled in their cold hearts the 
fire of love, and drew them over to his 
own interests in the present life ? Can 
we for one moment withhold a gem from 
the crown of Jesus, or a voice from the 
eternal song, or a lively stone that God 
has fitted for that upper temple, in which 
the ineffable glories of his character will 
be displayed during the endless ages of 
the future world ? 

This subject must afford reflections of a 
consoling and supporting character to 
those who by this instance of death, are 



/ 

212 



r ailed to mourn. You have been conduct- 
ed, my friends, far from your native land, 
to experience the trials of life, and the 
afflictions of this day, but in all the rug- 
gedness of the path, and the hardships of 
the way, you may see the compassion of a 
wise and tender Parent. The way, by 
which he has brought you, has doubtless 
sometimes appeared dark and rugged, and 
ne cup presented you to-day is bitter and 
painful, yet when you look at the mercies 
that have been scattered through the whole 
of your journey, and especially at those 
that are mingled with this bitter cup, what 
is there in the whole that you would alter, 
if it were in your power. How sweet 
and hnw consoling is the thought, that the 
trials with the people of God, in 
nt life, are their greatest mercies, 
ch more delightful and eternally 
5 will be your meeting, if you fol- 
ixample of your deceased father, 
and friend, in yonder world, than^if you 
had known nothing of the trials and sor- 
rows of the present life ? 



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